



fdWlBl • 



ii^B7K» Is 

S^' 


X8ira|S 











I 










4 



# 


1 


. * 

> 





I 

I , « 




i 

I 







t 


$ 









t 


% ♦ 
f 


t 


/ 


t 

4 






s: 


% • 



« 


% 







ELINE VERE 


TRANSLATED FROM THE DUTCH OF 

LOUIS COUPERUS 


jc' t: grein 


WITH AN INTRODUCTION 


BY EDMUND GOSSE 


NLWYORK- 

DAPPLCTONandCO 

■I892- 











\ & ^ 



Copyright, 1892, 

By D. APPLETON AND COMPANY. 


OTf 




) >> 


I 

> 

\ 


INTRODUCTION. 


THE DUTCH SENSITIVISTS, 

In the intellectual history of all countries we find the 
same phenomenon incessantly recurring. New writers, new 
artists, new composers arise in revolt against what has 
delighted their grandfathers and satisfied their fathers. 
These young men, pressed together at first, by external 
opposition, into a serried phalanx, gradually win their 
way, become themselves the delight and then the satisfac- 
tion of their contemporaries, and, falling apart as success 
is secured to them, come to seem lax, effete, and obsolete 
to a new race of youths, who effect a fresh aesthetic revo- 
lution. In small communities, these movements are often 
to be observed more precisely than in larger ones. But 
they are very tardily perceived by foreigners, the estab- 
lished authorities in art and literature retaining their ex- 
clusive place in dictionaries and handbooks long after the 
claim of their juniors to be observed with attention has 
been practically conceded at home. 

For this reason, partly, and partly also because the 
mental life of Holland receives little attention in this 
country, no account has yet been taken of the revolution 
in Dutch taste which has occupied the last six or seven 


IV 


INTRODUCTION. 


years. I believe that the present occasion is the first on 
which it has been brought to the notice of any English- 
speaking public. There exists, however, in Holland, at 
this moment, a group of young writers, most of them be- 
tween thirty-five and twenty-five years of age, who exhibit 
a violent zeal for literature, passing often into extrava- 
gance, who repudiate, sometimes with ferocity, the rather 
sleepy Dutch authorship of the last forty years, and who 
are held together, or crushed together, by the weight of 
antiquated taste and indifference to executive mierit which 
they experience around them. Certain facts seem to be un- 
deniable : first, that every young man of letters in Holland, 
whose work is really promising, has joined the camp ; and 
secondly, that, with all the ferment and crudity insepara- 
ble from prose and verse composed in direct opposition to 
existing canons of taste, the poems and the stories of 
these young Dutchmen are often full of beauty and deli- 
cacy. They have read much in their boyhood ; they have 
imitated Rossetti and Keats ; they have been fascinated by 
certain Frenchmen, by Flaubert, by Goncourt, particu- 
larly by Huysmans, who is a far-away kinsman of their 
own ; they have studied the disquieting stories of Edgar 
Poe. But these influences are passing away, and those 
who know something of current Dutch belles-lettres can 
realize best how imperatively a ploughing up of the phleg- 
matic tradition of Dutch thought was required before a 
new crop of imagination could spring up. 

Rejecting the conventional aspects of contemporary 
Dutch literature, I will now attempt to give some sketch 
of the present situation as it appears to a foreign critic 
observing the field without prejudice. The latest novel- 
ist of great importance was Madame Gertrude Bosboom- 
Toussaint, who was born in 1821. After having written a 
long series of historical romances for nearly forty years, 


INTRODUCTION. 


V 


this intelligent woman and careful writer broke with her 
own assured public, and took up the discussion of psycho- 
logical questions. She treated the problem of Socialism 
in Raymond de Schrijnwerker and the status of woman in 
Majoor Frans. Madame Bosboom-Toussaint died in 1886, 
just too early to welcome the new school of writers, with 
whom she would probably have had more sympathy than 
any of her contemporaries. Her place in popular esteem 
was taken for a short time by Miss Opzomer (A. S. C. 
Wallis), whose long novels have been translated into Eng- 
lish, In dagen van strijd (“ In Troubled Times ”) and Vors- 
tengunst (“Royal Favor”). She had genuine talent, but 
her style was heavy and tedious. After the new wind be- 
gan to blow, although she was still young, she married, 
went to Hungary, and gave up writing novels. 

Three authors of importance, each, by a curious coin- 
cidence, born in the year 1826, fill up the interval between 
the old and new generation. These are Dekker, Busken- 
Huet, and Vosmaer. Edward Douwes Dekker, whose 
novel of Max Havelaar dates from 1858, was a man of ex- 
ceptional genius. Bred in the interior of Java, he observed 
the social conditions of life in the Dutch Indies as no one 
else had done, but his one great book remained a solitary 
one. He died in 1887 without having justified the very 
high hopes awakened by that extraordinary and revolu- 
tionary work. The career of Konrad Busken-Huet was 
very different. The principal literary critic of Holland in 
his generation, he aimed at being the Sainte-Beuve of the 
Dutch, and in his early days, as the dreaded “ Thrasybu- 
lus ” of journalism, he did much to awaken thought. His 
volumes of criticism are extremely numerous, and exer- 
cised a wholesome influence during his own time. He 
died in Paris in April, 1886. These two writers have had 
a strong effect on the prose style of the younger school of 


VI 


INTRODUCTION. 


essayists and novelists. They lived long enough to ob- 
serve the dawn of the new literature, and their relations 
with the latest writers were cordial if somewhat reserved. 

What Douwes Dekker and Busken-Huet did in prose, 
was effected in poetry by Carel Vosmaer. This estimable 
man, who died in 1888, was well known throughout Eu- 
rope as an art-critic and an authority on Rembrandt. In 
Holland he was pre-eminent as the soul of a literary news- 
paper, the Nederlandsche Spectator, which took an inde- 
pendent line in literary criticism, and affected to lead pub- 
lic taste in directions less provincial and old-fashioned 
than the rest of the Dutch press. Vosmaer wrote also 
several volumes of more or less fantastic poetry, a trans- 
lation of Homer into alexandrines, and an antiquarian 
novel, Amazone, 1881. But Vosmaer’s position was, above 
all, that of a precursor. He, and he alone, saw that a 
new thing must be made in Dutch poetical literature. 
He, and he alone, was not satisfied with the stereotyped 
Batavian tradition. At the same time Vosmaer was not, 
it may be admitted, strong enough himself to found a new 
school; perhaps even, in his later days, the Olympian 
calm which he affected, and a certain elegant indolence 
which overcame him, may have made him unsympathetic 
to the ardent and the juvenile. At all events, this sin- 
gular phenomenon has occurred. He who of all living 
Dutchmen was, ten or fifteen years ago, fretting under the 
poverty of thought and imagination in his fatherland and 
longing for the new era to arrive, is at this moment the 
one man of the last generation who is most exposed to 
that unseemly ferocitd des jeunes which is the ugliest feature 
of these aesthetic revolutions. I have just been reading, 
with real pain, the violent attack on Vosmaer and his in- 
fluence which has been published by that very clever 
young poet, Mr.Willem Kloos {De Nieuwe Gids, December, 


INTRODUCTION. 


vii 


1890). All that cheers me is to know that the whirligig of 
time will not forget its revenges, and that, if Mr. Kloos 
only lives long enough, he will find somebody, now un- 
born, to call him a bloodless puppet.” 

Of one other representative of the transitional period, 
Marcellus Emants, I need say little. He wrote a poem, 
Liliihy and several short stories. Much was expected of 
him, but I know not what has been the result. 

The inaugurator of the new school was Jacques Perk, 
a young poet of indubitable genius, who was influenced to 
some degree by Shelley, and by the Florence of the Dutch 
Browning, Potgieter. He wrote in 1880 a Mathildey for 
which he could find no publisher, presently died, and be- 
gan to be famous on the posthumous issue of his poems, 
edited by Vosmaer and Kloos, in 1883. 

The sonnets of Perk, like those of Bowles with us a 
hundred years ago, were the heralds of a whole new poetic 
literature. The resistance made to the young writers who 
now began to express themselves, and their experience 
that all the doors of periodical publication in Holland 
were closed to them, led to the foundation in 1885 of De 
Niemve Gids^ a rival to the old Dutch quarterly, De Gids. 
In this new review, which has steadily maintained and im- 
proved its position, most of the principal productions of the 
new school have appeared. The first three numbers con- 
tained De Kleine Johannes (“ Little Johnny ”), of Dr. Fred- 
erik van Eeden, the first considerable prose-work of the 
younger generation. This is a charming romance, fantas- 
tic and refined, half symbolical, half realistic, which de- 
serves to be known to English readers. It has been highly 
appreciated in Holland. To this followed two powerful 
books by L. van Deyssel, Een Liefde (“ A Love ”) and De 
Kleine Republiek (“The Little Republic”). Van Deyssel 
has written with great force, but he has hitherto been the 


viii 


INTRODUCTION. 


enfant terrible of the school, the one who has claimed with 
most insolence to say precisely what has occurred to him 
to say. He has been influenced, more than the rest, by 
the latest French literature. 

While speaking of the new school, it is difficult to re- 
strain from mentioning others of those whose work in De 
Nieuwe Gids and elsewhere has raised hopes of high per- 
formance in the future. Jacques van Looy, a painter by 
profession, has published, among other things, an exquis- 
itely finished volume of Proza (‘‘Prose Essays"). Frans 
Netscher, who deliberately marches in step with the French 
realists, is the George Moore of Holland ; he has published 
a variety of small sketches and one or two novels. Ary 
Prins, under the pseudonym of Coopland, has written 
some very good studies of life. Among the poets are 
Willem Kloos, Albert Verwey, and Herman Gorter, each 
of whom deserves a far more careful critical consideration 
than can here be given to him. 

Willem Kloos, indeed, may be considered as the leader 
of the school since the death of Perk. It was to Kloos 
that, in the period from 1880 to 1885. each of the new 
writers went in secret for encouragement, criticism, and 
sympathy. He appears to be a man of very remarkable 
character. Violent and passionate in his public utterances, 
he is adored by his own colleagues and disciples, and one 
of the most gifted of them has told me that “ Kloos has 
never made a serious mistake in his estimate of the force 
of a man or of a book." His writings, however, are very- 
few, and his tone in controversy is acrid and uncompro- 
mising, as I have already indicated. He remains the least 
known and the least liked, though the most powerful, of 
the band. The member of the new generation whose 
verse and prose alike have won most acceptance is, cer- 
tainly, Frederik van Eeden. His cycle of lyrical verse, 


INTRODUCTION. 


IX 


Elleriy 1891, is doubtless the most exquisite product of 
recent Dutch literature. 

For the peculiar quality which unites in one movement 
the varied elements of the school which I have attempted 
thus briefly to describe, the name Sensitivism has been in- 
vented by one of themselves, by Van Deyssel. It is a de- 
velopment of impressionism, grafted upon naturalism, as 
a frail and exotic bud may be set in the rough basis of a 
thorn. It preserves the delicacy of sensation of the one 
and strengthens it by the exactitude and conscientiousness 
of the other, yet without giving way to the vagaries of 
impressionism or to the brutality of mere realism. It 
selects and refines, it re-embraces Fancy, that maiden so 
rudely turned out of house and home by the naturalists ; 
it aims, in fact, at retaining the best, and nothing but the 
best, of the experiments of the French during the last 
quarter of a century. 

Van Deyssel greets V Argent with elaborate courtesy, 
with the respect due to a fallen divinity. He calls his 
friends in Holland to attend the gorgeous funeral of natu- 
ralism, which is dead ; but urges them not to sacrifice their 
own living Sensitivism to the imitation of what is abso- 
lutely a matter of past history. It will be seen that Dutch 
Sensitivism is not by any means unlike French Symbolism, 
and we might expect prose like Mallarm^'s and verse like 
Mor^as’s ! As a matter of fact, however, the Dutch seem, 
in their general attitude of reserve, to leave their mother- 
tongue unassailed, and to be as intelligible as their inspira- 
tion allows them to be. 

To one of these writers, however, and to one of the 
youngest, it is time that I should turn. The first member 
of the new Dutch school to be presented, in the following 
pages, to English readers, is Louis Marie Anne Couperus. 
Of him, as the author of this book, I must give a fuller 


X 


INTRODUCTION. 


biography, although he is still too young to occupy much 
space by the record of his achievements. Louis Couperus 
was born on the loth of June, 1863, at the Hague, where 
he spent the first ten years of his life. He was then taken 
in company with his family to Java, and resided five years 
in Batavia. Returning to the Hague, where he completed 
his education, he began to make teaching his profession, 
but gradually drifted into devoting himself entirely to 
literature. He published a little volume of verses in 1884, 
and another, of more importance, called Orchide'ien (“ Or- 
chids "), in 1887, Oriental and luscious. But he has suc- 
ceeded, as every one allows, much better in prose. His 
long novel of modern life in the Hague, called Eline Vere^ 
is an admirable performance. Of Noodlot (literally to be 
translated “ Fate ” or Destiny ”) our readers will judge 
for themselves at a later date. Such is the brief chronicle 
of a writer from whom much is expected by the best critics 
of his own country. 


Edmund Gosse. 


ELINE VERE 


CHAPTER I. 

They were close to each other in the dining-room, which had 
been turned into a dressing-room. In front of a mirror stood 
Frdddrique van Erlevoort, with her hair hanging loose, looking 
very pale under a thin layer of powder, her eyebrows blackened 
with a single stroke of the pencil. 

“ Do hurry up, Paul ! We shall never get ready,” she said, a 
little impatiently, glancing at the clock. 

Paul van Raat was kneeling at her feet, and his fingers draped 
a long thin veil of crimson and gold in folds from her waist. The 
gauze hung like a cloud over the pinkness of her skirt ; her neck 
and arms, white as snow with the powder, were left free, and 
sparkled with the glitter of the chains and necklaces strung across 
one another. 

** Whew, what a draught ! Do keep the door shut, Dien I ” 
Paul shouted to an old servant who was leaving the room with her 
arms full of dresses. Through the open door one could see the 
guests — men in evening dress, ladies in light costumes : they passed 
along the azaleas and palms in the corridor into the large drawing- 
room ; they smiled at the sight of the old servant, and threw 
surreptitious glances into the dining-room. 

They all laughed at this look behind the scenes, Frdd^rique 
alone remained serious, realizing that she had the dignity of a 
princess of antiquity to keep up. 

** Do make haste^ Paul ! ” she pleaded. It^s past half-past eight 
already ! ” 


2 


ELINE VERE. 


**Yes, yes, Freddie, don’t get nervous; you’re finished,” he 
answered, and adroitlv pinned a few jewels among the gauze folds 
of her draperies. 

‘‘Ready?” asked Marie and Lili Verstraeten, coming out of the 
room where the stage had been fixed up, a mysterious elevation 
almost effaced in semi-darkness. 

“Ready,” answered Paul. “And now calmly, please,” he con- 
tinued, raising his voice and looking round with an air of command. 

The warning was well needed. The three boys and the five girls 
who did duty as ladies -maids, were rushing about the room laughing, 
shouting, creating the greatest disorder. In vain Lili tried to save 
a gilt cardboard lyre from the hands of the son of the house, a 
boy twelve years old, while their two rascally cousins were just on 
the point of climbing up a great white cross, which stood in a corner, 
and was already yielding under their onslaughts. 

“ Get away from that cross, Jan and Karel I Give up that lyre, 
you other!” roared Paul. “Do look after them, Marie. And 
now. Bet and Dien, come here ; Bet with the lamp, Dien at 
the door ; all the rest out of the road ! There’s no more room ; 
look on from the garden through the window of the big drawing- 
room ; you’ll see everything beautifully, at a distance. Come 
along, Freddie, carefully, here’s your train.” 

“You’ve forgotten my crown.” 

“ I’ll put it on when you’re posed. Come on.” 

The three girls hurried to get away, the boys squatted in a corner 
of the room, where they could not be seen, and Paul helped Freddie 
to climb on to the stage. 

Marie, who, like Lili, was not yet draped, talked through the 
closed window with the fireman, who was waiting, muffled up, in 
the snowy garden, to let off the Bengal light. A great reflector 
stared through the window like a pale, lustreless sun. 

“ First white, then green, then red,” Marie called out, and the 
fireman nodded. 

The now deserted dressing-room was dark, barely lit by the lamp 
which Bet held in her hand, while Dien stood at the door. 

“Carefully, Freddie, carefully,” said Paul. 

Frdddrique sank down gently into the cushions of the couch ; 
Paul arranged her draperies, her chains, her hair, her diadem, and 
placed a flower here and there. 


ELINE VERE. 


3 

“ Will that do ? she asked with tremulous voice, taking up the 
pose she had studied beforehand. 

‘‘You’re delicious; beautiful! Now then, Marie, Lili, come 
here.” 

Lili threw herself on the floor, Marie leaned against the couch 
with her head at Frederique’s feet. Paul draped both girls quickly 
in coloured shawls and veils, and twisted strings of gems round 
their arms and in their hair. 

“ Marie and Lili, look as if you were in despair. Wring your 
hands more than that, Lili ! More despair, much more despair ! 
Freddie, more languishing, turn your eyes up, set your mouth in 
a sadder expression.” 

“Like that?” 

Marie screamed. 

“Yes, that will do! That’s better; now be quiet, Marie. Is 
everything ready ? ” 

“Ready ! ” said Marie. 

Paul arranged one or two more things, a crease, a flower, doubtful 
whether everything was right. 

“ Come, let’s start,” said Lili, who was in a very uncomfortable 
position. 

“ Bet, take away the lamps ; Dien, shut that door, and then 
come here, both of you, one on each side of the folding doors of 
the big room.” 

They were all in the dark, with beating hearts, while Paul tapped 
at the window, and joined the boys in the corner. 

Slowly and doubtfully the Bengal light flamed up against the 
reflector, the folding doors opened solemnly, a clear white glow lit 
up the tableau. 

Smiling and bowing, while the conversation suddenly changed 
into a muffled murmur, the guests pressed forward into the large 
drawing-room and the conservatory, blinded by a burst of light 
and colour. Men got out of the way of a couple of laughing girls. 
In the background boys climbed on the chairs. 

“ The death of Cleopatra ! ” Betsy van Raat read out to Mrs. 
Van Erlevoort, who had handed her the programme. 

“ Splendid ! magnificent ! ” one heard on every side. 

Ancient Egypt seemed to have come alive again in the white 
glow of the light. Between luxurious draperies something like an 


4 


ELINE VERE. 


oasis could be perceived, a blue sky, two pyramids, some palms. 
On her couch, supported by sphinxes, lay Cleopatra, at the point 
of death, an adder curling round her arm. Two slaves were pro- 
strate in despair at her feet. The parti-coloured vision of oriental 
magnificence lasted a few seconds ; the poetry of antiquity revived 
under the eyes of a modern audience. 

That’s Freddie,” said Betsy. “ How lovely I” and she pointed 
out the dying queen to Mrs. Van Erlevoort, who was dazzled by 
all this luxury. Now, however, the mother recognized her daughter 
in the beautiful motionless statue lying before her. 

And that’s Marie, and the other — oh, that’s Lili — irrecognizable ! 
What beautiful costumes ! how elaborate ! You see that dress of 
Lili’s, violet and silver ? I lent her that.” 

How well they do it,’^ murmured the old lady. 

The white glow of the light began to flicker, the doors were 
closed. 

Splendid, auntie, splendid 1 ” Betsy cried, as Mrs. Verstraeten, 
the hostess, passed her. 

Twice the tableau was recalled, first in a flood of sea-green, then 
in fiery red. Freddie, with her adder, lay immovable, and only 
Lili quivered in her forced attitude. Paul looked out from his 
corner with a beaming face ; everything was going well. 

• How quiet Freddie lies ! And everything is so rich, and yet 
not overdone. Something like a picture of Makart’s,” said Betsy, 
opening her feather fan. 

^‘Your daughter is tired of life very early, madam,” lisped young 
de Woude van Bergh, bowing towards Mrs. van Erlevoort, 
Freddie’s mother. 

After the third repetition of the tableau Mrs. Verstraeten went 
to the dressing-room. She found Frederique and Lili laughing 
while they got out of their Egyptian attire, looking for endless pins 
in every fold. Paul and Marie stood on the steps, and, lighted by 
two of the servants, pulled Cleopatra’s dress to pieces. Dien 
fussed about, picking up the dropped draperies and the fallen 
chains. The three boys rolled over one another on a mattress. 

‘‘Was it pretty, mamma?” cried Lili. 

“Was it pretty, madam?” cried Freddrique, at the same time. 

“ Beautiful ! They would have liked to see it again.” 

“ What again ! Pm nearly dead already,” cried Lili ; and she 


ELINE VERE. 


5 


tumbled into an arm-chair, throwing a great bundle off it upon the 
floor. Dien gave way to despair; at that rate she would never 
get done. 

Lili, rest yourself,” cried Paul, from the top of his steps in the 
other room ; “ you’ll get tired in that attitude. Aunt Verstraeten, 
tell Lili to rest herself,” and he threw some coloured carpets off 
the cords on which they had been hanging. Dien went on 
folding up. 

Dien, white sheets and white tulle this way, quick,” cried 
Marie. Dien misunderstood her, and came back with the wrong 
article. 

Then all began to talk at once, and every one asked for some- 
thing else, and there arose a very Babel of confusion. At the top 
of the staircase Paul made a gesture of despair, but no one took 
any notice. 

“ I am utterly worn out ! ” said he, crouching down in impotent 
rage. “ No one does anything. It all falls to my lot I ” 

Madame Verstraeten, having in her turn begged Lili to rest her- 
self, had gone to tell the servants not to forget the youthful artistes. 
As a result, the men soon came in, carrying big trays laden with 
glasses of wine and lemonade, pastry and sandwiches. The con- 
fusion only increased. The three boys were served with various 
good things on their mattress, over which one of the servants spilt 
a stream of lemonade. Up flew Marie, in a torrent of rage, and 
with Dien’s assistance quickly pulled the mattress away from under 
the boys, into the next room. 

“ Fred^rique, do give a hand there,” cried Paul, in a voice shrill 
with irritation. As for keeping any further sort of control over the 
three lads, that he had given up as hopeless. Ere long, however, 
the noisy young customers were driven, loudly shrieking and 
stumbling one over another, out of the room by Dien. 

Then there was a little more quietness, but everybody was doing 
something, except Lili. 

“ There’s a muddle ! ” she muttered to herself. Then she sat 
down and brushed her hair, wavy and blond cendrd^ and that done, 
she took up her powder-puff, and sprinkled a snowy layer over her 
arms. 

Dien returned, very much out of breath, shaking her head, and 
with a kindly smile on her face. 

“Dien, white sheets and tulle quickly,” Freddie, Marie, and Paul 


6 ELINE VERE. 

all cried together. Paul came down from his place on the stairs, 
placed the big cross, the weight of which nearly crushed him, on the 
platform, and at the foot he laid the mattress and a snug arrange- 
ment of pillows. 

“ Dien, white sheets and tulle ; all the tulle and muslin you can 
find.” 

And Dien and the other servants brought it, one soft mass 
of white. 

Madame Verstraeten sat down beside her niece, Betsy van 
Raat. She was married to PauFs elder brother. 

“ What a pity Eline is not here I I had so depended on her to 
fill up the long intervals with a little music. She sings so nicely.” 

“She was really not feeling well, aunt. She is very* sorry, you 
may be sure, that she can’t be here, in honour of uncle’s birthday.” 

“ What is the matter with her ? ” 

“ I don’t quite know. Nerves, I think.” 

“ She really ought not to give herself up to these fits. With a 
little energy she could easily get over that nervousness.’* 

“Well, you see, aunt, this nervousness is the modern bane of 
young women, it is the fin de sihle epidemic,” said Betsy, with a 
faint smile. 

Madame Verstraeten sighed and nodded. 

“ By the bye,” said she, “ I suppose the girls will be too tired 
to-morrow evening to go to the opera. Would you care to have 
our box ? ” 

Betsy reflected for a moment. 

I have a little dinner to-morrow, aunt ; but still I should like 
the box. It is only the Ferelyns and Emilie and Georges who 
are coming, but the Ferelyns are going early because little Dora is 
not well, so I could easily go with Emilie and Georges, and be in 
time to see an act.” 

“ Well, that is settled then. I shall send you the tickets,” said 
Madame Verstraeten rising. 

Betsy rose too. George de Woude van Bergh was just about 
to speak to her, but she took no notice. She thought him a terrible 
bore that evening ; he had spoken to her twice, and each time said 
the same thing, something about the tableaux. No ; there was no 
conversation in him at all. And to-morrow night too she would 
have to meet him again ; what an enjoyable prospect ! Aunt’s box 


ELINE VERE. 


7 


was quite a godsend. There stood her husband, in the conserva- 
tory, together with some gentlemen, Mr. Verstraeten, Mr. Hovel, 
Otto and Etienne van Erlevoort, they talking and he listening, his 
heavy body crushing the leaves of a palm, a somewhat stupid smile 
playing about his expressionless, good-humoured face. Oh, how he 
bored her ! She thought him insufferable. And what a figure he 
cut in a dress coat ! In his great-coat at all events he had a manly 
appearance. 

Walking towards him she said, “ Do say something to some- 
body, Henk. You look like a fixture in that comer there. Can’t 
you move ? you do appear to enjoy yourself. Your necktie is all 
on one side.” 

He muttered something and fumbled about his neclc. She turned 
away and was soon at her ease in the midst of a noisy little group. 
Even melancholy Madame van Ryssel, Freddie’s sister, formed one 
of them. Emilie de Woude was unmarried and bore her thirty- 
eight years with an enviable grace : her pleasant, animate features 
charmed all who met her. She was much like her younger brother 
George, but about her there was something genial — a great contrast 
to his studied ceremoniousness. 

Attracted by her amusing anecdotes, Emilie sat, the central 
figure in a joyous little group. She was just telling them of her 
recent fall on a patch of frozen snow, at the feet of a gentleman 
who had remained motionless, staring at her, instead of helping her 
to her feet. 

“Just fancy my muff on the left, my hat on the right, myself in 
the centre, and right in front of me a man staring at me with open- 
mouthed amazement.” 

There was the tinkling of a bell ; Emilie broke off her story and 
ran away from her audience. The folding doors were opened, and 
there was a general rush to the front. 

“ I can’t see at all,” said Emilie, rising on tiptoe. 

“ Come here on my chair, miss,” cried a young girl behind her. 

“ You are a little dear, Toos, really. Will you allow me to pass 
by, Madame van der Stoor? your daughter has come to my 
aid.” 

Madame van der Stoor, who, under a pseudonym, dabbled much 
in poetry, moved a step back, with an acrid smile about her lips. 
She felt a little disgusted at Emilie’s saiis-gine ; she herself never 


2 


8 


ELfNE VERE. 


made an attempt to get a better viewjt was not the thing to show 
an unfashionable interest in the entertainment. 

Emilie and Cateau van der Stoor were soon standing on one 

chair, holding each other’s waists. 

“ Oh, how pretty !*” cried Emilie, and then remained silent m 
rapt attention. From out of the billows of a foaming sea arose 
a rough-hewn cross of marble whiteness, round the base of which 
a fragile fair woman clung in mortal agony, whilst a heaving wave 
of tulle covered her feet ; and with the fierceness of despair her 
slender fingers grasped the Rock of Ages. 

“ It is Lili,” was heard here and there. 

“ How graceful she is, that Lili ! ” whispered Emilie to Cateau. 

“ But how can she hang there like that ? How can she bear it so 
long?” 

“ She is surrounded with^pillows ; but still it must be very tiring,” 
said Toos. “Of course you can’t see anything of the pillows, 
miss.” 

“ Of course not. But it is very nice ; I have never seen anything 
so poetic before. . . . Say, Toos, I thought you were going to 
take part?” 

“ So I am, but only in the last tableau, with Etienne van Erlevoort. 
I shall have to be going soon to dress.” 

Quickly she got down from her chair. The light grew dim, the 
folding doors were closed. Applause rang throughout the room. 
But ere long . the white vision of surging foam was repeated, and 
an angel hovered over the cross, and held out her hand to the 
swooning woman. 

Stronger and stronger grew the applause. 

“ Of course Marie cannot keep a serious face again,” said Emilie, 
shaking her head. “ She will burst out laughing in a moment. 

And really something like a smile seemed to be trembling about 
the little mouth of the angel, the nervous twitching of the eyebrows 
contrasting very oddly with the pathetic expression of her features. 

Although it was evident enough that the artistes were tired, not 
one of them being able to remain perfectly motionless, the last 
tableau was received with enthusiastic cheers. It was encored 
again and again. The tableau consisted of an allegorical repre- 
sentation of the Five Senses, the parts being taken by the four 
young girls, attired in rich dresses — cloth of gold, brocade ermine 


ELINE VERE. 9 

— and by Etienne, Freddrique’s youngest brother, who, in the garb 
of a minstrel, represented the sense of Hearing. 

The tableaux were concluded. 

It was now two o’clock, and Mr. and Madame Verstraeten re- 
ceived the thanks of their guests as they left them. 

“Do you remain to supper with Cateau?” said Madame Ver- 
straeten to Madame van der Stoor ; “ quite sans cdrenwnie^ you 
know.” 

Madame van der Stoor, however, feared it was too late ; she 
would just wait for her daughter. 

The artistes who had doffed their costumes entered the room 
and were overwhelmed with the thanks of those guests still re- 
maining, while Emilie played a march on the piano. As an intimate 
friend she stayed to supper with van Raat and Betsy. 

“ You are coming to-morrow, are you not, Toos ? the photographer 
is coming at two,” said Marie. 

“Yes,” said Cateau, “I shall be here.” 

Utterly worn out, the artistes flung themselves down in the com- 
fortable chairs in the conservatory, where a dainty little supper 
was served. 

“ What was prettiest ? What was prettiest ? ” all cried together 

Then there was a general expression of opinion, to the accom- 
paniment of clattering plates and forks, and the Jingling of glasses. 


' ' CHAPTER II. 

It was half-past two when the van Raats returned from the 
supper to the Nassauplein. At their house all was in darkness. 
While Henk drew the bolt across the door Betsy thought she would 
take a look at her sleeping boy, snugly ensconced in his little white 
cot up-stairs. She took up her candle and went up-stairs, whilst he, 
laden with papers, walked into the breakfast-room, where the gas 
was still burning. 

Arrived in her dressing-room, she removed her cloak from her 
shoulders. In the small grate the flame curled upward like the 
fiery tongue of a dragon. - There was something indefinably soothing 


10 


ELINE VERE. 


in the atmosphere of the room, something like a warm vapour, 
mingled with the sweet faint odour of violets. After giving a glance 
at her child, she sat down with a sigh of fatigue, in an arm-chair. 
Then the door opened, and- Eline, in a dressing-gown of white 
flannel, her hair falling in thick waves down her back, entered. 

“What, Elly, not in bed yet?” 

“ No, I — have been reading. Did you enjoy yourself? ” 

“ Oh yes, it was very nice. I only wish that Henk had not 
been such an awful bore. He never said a word, and with his 
stupid face he sat there fumbling at his watch-chain until he could 
go and take his hand at whist.” 

Then with a somewhat angry movement Betsy kicked her dainty 
little shoes from her feet. 

Eline sighed languidly. 

“Did you tell Madame Verstraeten that I was not well ?” 

“ Yes ; but you know when I come home at night I like to go 
to bed. We can talk to-morrow, eh ? ” 

Eline knew that her sister when she returned home at night was 
always more or less irritable. Still she was tempted to give her 
a sharp answer, but she felt too unnerved for it. With her lips 
she lightly touched Betsy’s cheek, and quite unconsciously laid her 
head on her sister’s shoulder, in a sudden and irresistible longing 
for tenderness. 

“ Are you really ill, eh, or ? ” 

“No. Only a little — lazy. Good-night.” 

“ Pleasant dreams ! ” 

Eline retired with languid steps. Betsy proceeded to undress. 

Arrived in the hall, Eline experienced the uncomfortable feeling 
of having been an unwelcome visitor to her sister. All the evening, 
giving herself up entirely to a fit of indolence, she had been in 
solitude, and now she longed for company. For a moment she 
stood undecided in the dark corridor, and then carefully feeling 
her way she descended the stairs and entered the breakfast- 
room. 

Henk, divested of his coat, stood by the mantelpiece in his shirt- 
sleeves, preparing his grog, by way of night-cap, and the hot fumes 
of the liquor filled the room. 

“Hallo, girl, is that you?” he said, in a jovial tone, whilst in 
his sleepy blue-gray eyes and about his heavily fair-bearded mouth 


ELINE VERE. 


II 


there played a good-humoured smile. “ Did you not feel terribly 
bored, left to yourself all the evening?” 

“Yes; just a little. Perhaps you did even more?” she asked 
with a pleasant smile. 

“ I ? Not at all. The tableaux were very pretty.” 

Then with his back leaning against the mantelpiece he began 
sipping his grog. 

“Has the youngster been good?” 

“Yes ; he has been asleep. Are you not going to bed?” 

“ I just want to look at the papers. But why are you still up ? ” 

“ Oh — just because ” With a languid, graceful move- 

ment she stretched her arms, and then twisted her heavy locks 
into a glossy brown coil. She felt the need to speak to him 
without constraint, but the words would not come, and not the 
faintest thought could she conjure up to take shape within her 
dreamy mind. Gladly would she have burst into tears, not because 
of any poignant sorrow, but for the mere longing of hearing his 
deep solacing tones in comforting her. But she could find no 
words to give expression to her feelings, and again she stretched 
forth her arms in languid grace. 

“Is anything wrong, eh, old girl? Come, tell me what it is.” 

With a vacant stare she shook her head. No, there was nothing 
to tell. 

“ Come, you can tell me all about it, you know that.” 

“Oh — I feel a little miserable.” 

“What about?” 

Then with a pretty little pout, “ Oh — I don’t know. I have 
been a little nervous all day.” 

He laughed — his usual soft, sonorous laugh. 

“ You and your nerves ! Come, sis, cheer up. You are such 
good company when you are not so melancholy; you must not 
give yourself over to these fits.” He felt conscious that his eloquence 
would not hold out to argue the matter further, so with a laugh he 
concluded, “Will you have a drop of grog, sis?” 

“ Thank you — yes, just a sip out of your glass.” 

She turned to him, and laughing in his fair beard, he raised 
the steaming glass to her lips. Through the half-closed eyelids 
he saw a tear glistening, but she kept it back. All at once, with 
sudden determination, he set down his glass and grasped her hands. 

“ Come, girl, tell me ; there is something — something has occurred 


12 


ELINE VERE. 


with Betsy, or — come now, you generally trust me.’^ And he gave 
her a reproachful glance with his sleepy, kindly, stupid eyes, like 
those of a faithful sheep-dog. 

Then in a voice broken with sobs, she burst forth in a stream 
of lamentations, though without apparent cause. It was her heart’s 
inmost cry for a little tenderness and sympathy. What was her 
life to her? to whom could she be of the slightest use? Wringing 
her hands, she walked up and down the room sobbing and lament- 
ing. What would she care did she die within the hour? it was 
all the same to her — only that aimless, useless existence, without 
anything to which she could devote her whole soul ; that alone was 
no longer bearable. 

Henk contradicted her, feeling certainly somewhat abashed at 
the scene, which for the rest was but a repetition of so many 
previous ones. To give a new turn to her thoughts he began to 
talk about Betsy, and Ben their boy, about himself — he was even 
about to allude to a future home of her own, but he could not bring 
it so far. She on her part shook her head like a sulking child, 
which, not getting what it wants, refuses to take anything else, and 
with a passionate movement she all at once threw her head on his 
shoulder, and with an arm round his bull-dog neck, she burst into 
a fresh torrent of sobs. Thus she went on lamenting in wild and 
incoherent words, her nerves overstrained by the evening’s solitude 
and the hours of brooding in her over-heated room. Over and 
over again she reverted to her aimless life, which she dragged 
along like a wretched burden, and in her voice there was something 
like a reproach to him, her brother-in-law. He, confused and deeply 
touched by the warmth of her embrace, which he certainly could 
scarcely return with such tenderness, could find nothing to stem 
that wild torrent of incoherent sentences but a few common- 
places. 

Slowly, softly, like rose-leaves falling gently on the limpid bosom 
of a summer stream, she let her melancholy broodings glide away 
on the full low tones of his deep voice. 

At length she stopped and heaved a sigh, but her head still 
rested on his shoulder. Now that she was somewhat calmer, he 
thought it right to show a little anger at her behaviour. What 
a folly it was, to be sure ! What stupidity ! What a fuss to get 
into about nothing ! 


ELINE VERE. 


13 

“ No, Henk, really ” she began, and lifted her tear-stained 

face to his. 

“ My dear girl, what rubbish you talk about your aimless life, 
and all that sort of thing. What puts those things into your head ? 

We are all fond of you ” and remembering his unspoken 

thought of before, he proceeded, “ A young girl like you — talking 
about an aimless Sis, you are mad ! 

Then, as though tickled at the thought, and besides, thinking 
that the philosophic condition had lasted long enough, he suddenly 
gave her arm a sharp twist, and pinched her about the pouting 
lips. Laughingly she resisted; his movement had somewhat 
restored to her her broken equilibrium. 

When a few moments later both went up-stairs together, she 
could scarcely restrain herself from bursting out in laughter, as he 
suddenly lifted her up in his arms to carry her, while she, fearing he 
would stumble, in a voice half beseeching, half commanding, said — 

“ Come, Henk, let me go ; do you hear ? Don’t be so foolish ! 
Henk, let go ! ” 


CHAPTER III. 

Eline Vere was the younger of the two sisters, darker of hair 
and eyes, slenderer, with a figure less maturely developed. Her 
deeply-shaded dark brown eyes, and the ivory pallor of her com- 
plexion, together with the languor of some of her movements, gave 
her somewhat of the dreamy nature of an odr.lisk of the harem. 
The beauty with which she had been endowed, she prized like a 
precious jewel, and indeed she was at times half intoxicated with 
the glamour of her own fascinations. For several moments at a 
time she could stand looking at her own image in the glass, her 
rosy-tipped fingers gently stroking the delicate arch of the eyebrow 
or the long silken lashes, or arranging the wealth of brown hair 
about her head, in the wild luxuriance of a gdiy gitana. Her toilet 
afforded her endless employment, continuous and earnest medi- 
tation, in testing the effects, harmonious or otherwise, of the 
softened tints of satins, and the warmer colourings of plush, and 


14 


ELINE VERE. 


the halo of tulle and gauze, muslin and lace, that surrounded it 
all. In short, everything about her, from the faint clinging odour 
of violets, to the shimmer of soft draperies, was full of refined, 
charming suggestion. 

Somewhat dreamy and romantic by nature, there were times 
when, in a fit of languor, she thought with a certain lingering regret 
of her childhood, recalling to mind all sorts of memories of those 
days, and treasuring them up like so many precious relics. It was 
then that consciously or unconsciously she imparted a fresh colour 
of sentiment to those faded recollections of days gone by. In 
this way, the most trivial episode of her childhood became idealized 
and suffused with a charm of poetry. Betsy, with her practical 
turn of mind, never missed an opportunity rightly or wrongly to 
discount anything that bore but the faintest resemblance to 
idealism ; and Eline, in her transient state of half happiness, half 
melancholy, usually succeeded, after her sister’s practical demon- 
strations, in distinguishing the actual state of things from the 
luxuriant fantasies conjured up by her own imagination. 

At times her memory went back to her father, a painter, of 
refined and artistic temperament, elegant, but without the strength 
of a creative faculty, married whilst but a youth to a woman many 
years his senior, and by far his superior in strength of will and 
individuality. To her master hand, his pliant nature readily 
yielded, for his was a fine-strung temperament which, like the 
chords of a precious instrument, would have trembled under her 
rude touch, just as that of Eline sometimes trembled under the 
touch of her sister. She recalled to mind that father, with his 
complexion of yellow ivory, and his bloodless transparent fingers, 
lying down in listless languor, his active brain thinking out some 
great creation, only to be cast aside after the first few touches of 
the brush. Her he had often made his confidante, and the trust 
he placed in her caused her childish nature to regard him with a 
mixture of affectionate devotion and worshipful reverence, so that 
in her eyes he assumed the appearance of a poetical, dreamy-eyed, 
long-haired Rafael, Her mother, on the other hand, had always 
inspired her with a certain amount of fear, and the remembrance 
of the disillusionizing trivialities of daily life, with which the 
figure of her mother became inseparably interwoven, rendered it 
impossible for Eline to idealize her in her thoughts. 


ELINE VERE. 


15 

She remembered, after the death of her father, at a still early- 
age, but still after many years of half-hearted effort and dismal 
failures, and after the demise of her mother, felled by a sudden 
attack of heart disease, spending the days of her early girlhood 
under the guardianship of a widowed aunt. Old-fashioned, 
reserved and prim, with saddened regular features, the ruins of a 
once beautiful woman, she well remembered those two bony hands 
in perpetual motion over four bright glistening knitting-needles. 
There she lived, in that big room, in nerveless ease and placid 
luxury, in a paradise of cosy comfort, amid a wealth of soft 
draperies and carpets, and all that was pleasing and soothing to 
the senses. 

The two sisters growing up side by side under the same training, 
under the same surroundings, developed within themselves a some- 
what similar mental and moral condition, which, however, as years 
went by followed the bent of their different temperaments. In 
Eline, who, of a languid and lymphatic nature, felt the need of 
tender support, and gentle warmth of affection, and whose nerves, 
delicate as the petals of a flower, even in their soft, velvet-clad 
surroundings, were often too rudely handled by the slightest 
opposition, there developed a kind of timid reserve, which filled 
her mind with thousands of small tokens of a secret grief. Then 
when her measure of half - imaginary sorrows was full, it would 
relieve itself in one overwhelming, foaming wave of tearful pas- 
sion. In Betsy’s more sanguine nature there grew, nurtured by 
Eline’s need of support, a desire for domineering, by means of 
which she could force her whole psychological being into that of 
her pliant sister, to whom, after the first shock, it always brought 
a feeling of rest and contentment. But neither Eline’s fear of 
wounding her fine-strung temperament, nor Betsy’s over-ruling 
egoism, could ever have led to a tragic crisis, as the sharp con- 
trasts of each character became, in the soft enervating atmosphere 
of their surroundings, blended and dissolved in one dull tint of 
neutral gray. 

After one or two dances, where Eline’s little white-satined feet 
had glided along in rhythmical accompaniment to a dazzling har- 
mony of brilliant light and colour, soft strains of melody and dulcet 
tones of admiration, she received two offers of marriage, each of 
which she declined. Those two proposals remained still in her 


i6 


ELINE VERE. 


memory as two easily-gained triumphs, but at times the recollec- 
tion of the first would call forth a faint sigh from her bosom. It 
was then that she met Henri van Raat, and ever since she asked 
herself how it could possibly be that such a mass of stolidity 
as she called him, with so little resemblance to the hero of her 
dreams, appealed so strongly to her sympathies, ay, to such an 
extent that frequently she was overtaken with a sudden, irresistible 
impulse to be near him. The heroes of her dreams bore some 
resemblance to the idealized image of her father, to the conceptions 
of Ouida’s fanciful brain. But they had nothing in common with 
van Raat, with his sanguine, equable, complacent temperament, his 
soft sleepy gray-blue eyes, his laboured speech and heavy laugh. 
And yet in his voice, in his glance, there was something that 
attracted her, as in his unstudied bonhomie. In all this she found 
I support, so that at times she felt conscious of the vague desire to 
‘ rest her weary head on his shoulder. And he too felt conscious, 
with a certain pride, that he was something to her. 

But this pride vanished, however, the moment that Betsy came 
between them. Towards Eline’s sister he felt conscious of such 
a moral inferiority, that often he was at a loss to reply to her 
light and airy banter. At such times, she thought it an exquisite 
pleasure, cruel as it was, to draw him out, and tempt him to say 
things for which she overwhelmed him with false admiration, 
only to ridicule them afterwards to his face, which usually had the 
effect of reducing his sluggish mind to abject confusion. Then 
she would burst out laughing, and the sound of that full hearty 
laugh, full of mockery and self-confidence, fired hh imagination 
even more than did the tender feminine charm of Eline’s presence. 
Hers was the charm of a weeping soft-eyed siren, raising her arms 
in tempting languor from out of the blue of ocean, only to be 
again drawn to the depths below with irresistible force ; that of 
Betsy’s, however, was the impetuous witchery of a gay Bacchante, 
enchaining his senses with tangled vines, or dashing her brimming, 
foaming cup in his face, and intoxicating him with the wild 
impetuosity of her Joyous nature. 

And so it came about — ^liow he could not really say — but one 
evening in the dim light of late autumn, he as with a sudden 
impulse asked her to be his wife. It had indeed been a strange 
evening to him. The one thing he had felt conscious of was that 


ELINE VERE. 


17 

he was as though driven to it, as though hypnotized by an inde* 
finable something in Betsy’s eyes ; he could not but ask her what 
he eventually did. She, calm and collected, accepted his offer, 
taking care to conceal her inward joy at the prospect of having a 
home — and more especially a dominion of her own — under an out- 
ward appearance of calm indifference. She longed for a different 
atmosphere than that of the staid stuffiness of the big room, with 
the stately old furniture and dignified surroundings. But when 
Eline came and offered him her innocent congratulations, he 
became suddenly aware of such an inward surprise and dissatis- 
faction with himself that he could find no speech in answer to her 
sisterly good wishes. And Eline, rudely shaken as she was by 
this rapid succession of events, shrunk back in sudden terror of 
Betsy into her melancholy reserve, at the same time making every 
effort — only resulting in the loss of her own peace of mind — to 
resist the domineering influence which she had so long allowed 
her sister to exercise over her mind. 

Betsy and Henk had been married a twelvemonth when aunt 
died. It was then that, urged by her, he had looked out for some 
occupation, for with his eternally calm good-natured indolence he 
often bored her much in the same way as a faithful dog, which, 
ever to be found at his master’s feet, receives many a kick which 
a less devoted creature would have escaped. He too felt in a 
vague way that a young fellow, be his income ever so comfortable, 
ought to do something. However, although he sought, he found 
nothing, and in the meantime his ardour had considerably cooled 
down, now that Betsy herself did not longer worry him about it. 

And certainly he did not trouble her very much. In the morning 
he was generally away, taking what exercise he could on horseback, 
followed by his two gray boarhounds ; in the afternoon, yielding to 
his wife’s requests, he accompanied her on sundry calls, or when 
relieved of that duty, he visited his club ; the evenings being generally 
spent by him in accompanying his butterfly wife to concerts and 
theatres, where he did duty much after the fashion of Becky Sharp's 
faithful sheep-dog, a burdensome but indispensable adjunct. He 
adapted himself as well as he could to this much too excited 
a life ; he knew his will was not strong enough to resist that of 
Betsy, and he found it suited his temperament much better quietly 
to dress and accompany his wife, than to disturb the domestic 


ELINE VERE. 


• l8 

peace by an intrusion of his own ideas. Then again the few 
evenings she spent at home afforded him, with his instinctive 
love of sociability, a certain sensuous dreamy happiness, which 
in the end did more to win his love than when he beheld his wife 
beyond his own reach, the most brilliant figure in the grandest ball- 
room. That only made him peevish and morose. To her, how- 
ever, the few evenings she spent at home were a terrible bore. The 
singing of the gas-flame made her drowsy, and from her corner on 
the sofa she would cast many an angry glance at her husband, as 
he sat turning the pages of the illustrated paper or lazily sipping 
his tea. At such a moment she would feel an irresistible impulse 
to urge him on in heaven’s name to look for some occupation, to 
which he, astonished at being aroused in such a way from his dolce 
far niente^ would reply in incoherent heavy sentences. 

She, however, was at heart very happy. For was it not glorious 
to be able to spend as much as she chose on her dress ? And at 
the end of the week she would ofttimes remember, with a smile of 
happiness, that she had not spent a single evening at home. 

Eline meanwhile had passed the year in melancholy solitude at 
Aunt Vere’s. She read much, feeling especially charmed with 
Ouida’s luxuriant phantasmagory of an idealized life, sparkling 
with a wealth of colour, and bathed in the golden sunshine of 
Italian skies, vivid and glowing as a glittering kaleidoscope. She 
would read and literally devour those pages until, dog-eared and 
crumpled, they would flutter out of her grasp. Even at her aunt’s 
sick-bed, where with a certain feeling of romantic satisfaction she 
sat watching night after night, she would read them, again and 
again. 

In the atmosphere of that sick room, permeated as it was with an 
astherealized odour of drugs, the virtues and prowess of the noble 
heroes, the spotless beauties of the arch-wicked or divinely righteous 
heroines, became endowed with an irresistible charm of tempting 
unreality ; and Eline often felt a passionate longing to be in one of 
those old English mansions, w'here earls and duchesses were 
engaged in such exquisite love-making, and had such romantic 
meetings under the moon-lit trees of a grand old park. Aunt died, 
and Henk and Betsy invited Eline to make their house her home. 

At first she refused, overcome by a strange sadness at the 
thought of the relationship of her brother-in-law to her sister. But 
with an immense exercise of will power she at length conquered 


ELINE VERB. 


19 

those feelings. Had she not always wondered at the mysterious 
attraction she felt for Henk? And now that he was her sister’s 
husband, there suddenly arose to her mind such an insurmountable 
obstacle between them, an obstacle raised by the laws of decency 
and custom, that she could, without any risk, give herself over to 
sisterly sympathy, and therefore she thought it very childish to allow 
the memory of the past, and feelings that she never really had under- 
stood, to stand between her and the prospects of a comfortable home. 

In addition to this, there was the fact that her guardian uncle, 
Daniel Vere, who lived in Brussels, and was a bachelor, was too 
young a man to offex a girl in her teens a home with him. 

In the end, Eline waived her objections, and with the stipulation 
that she should be allowed to contribute a trifle towards her board, 
took up her abode at her brother-in-law’s. Henk had at first 
refused to agree to such a condition, but Betsy remarked that she 
could quite understand it ; had she been in Eline’s place she too 
would have done the same for her own independence’ sake. From 
the sum settled on her by her parents Eline derived a yearly 
income of about ,^160, and by putting into practice the lessons of 
economy she had been taught by her aunt, she managed to dress as 
elegantly on that, as did Betsy who always had a well-filled purse at 
her disposal. 

And thus three years of monotonous existence passed by. 


CHAPTER IV. 

When, the morning after her passionate outburst, Eline came 
down to breakfast, Henk had already gone out, bound for the stables, 
to look after his horses and hounds. In the breakfast-room there 
was no one but little Ben, eating, or rather playing with a slice of 
bread-and-butter. Betsy she could hear running to and fro with 
much animation, and giving her hurried instructions to the cook. 

Frans and Jeanne Ferelyn, and Miss de Woude van Bergh and 
her brother, were coming to dinner that day. 

Eline was looking very neat and dressy in a gown of dark gray 
woollen material, a gray ribbon round her waist, and a small golden 


20 


ELINE VERE. 


arrow glittering at her throat. She wore neither rings nor brace- 
lets. About her forehead curled a few fine locks, in frizzy garlands, 
soft and glossy as frayed silk. 

With a friendly nod she walked round to where the child was 
seated, and lifting up his face with both hands pressed a loving 
kiss on his forehead. Then she sat down, feeling well at ease 
with herself, her senses agreeably soothed by the soft warmth 
thrown out from the glowing hearth, while outside the snow-flakes 
were silently wrapping a down-like mantle around them. With 
an involuntary smile of satisfaction she rubbed her slim white 
hands, and glanced at her rosy, white-tipped finger-nails ; then 
casting a glance outside, where an old woman, almost bent double, 
was pushing a barrow of snow-covered oranges in front of her, she 
cut open a little breakfast-roll, the while listening, with amused indif- 
ference, to the angry dispute going on between Betsy and the.cook. 

Betsy entered, an ill-humoured expression in her heavily-shaded, 
twinkling eyes, her short thick lips compressed with annoyance. 
She carried a set of cut-glass dessert trays, which she was about 
to wash, as the cook had broken one of them. Carefully, notwith- 
standing her anger, she placed the trays on the table, and filled a 
basin with warm water. 

That fool of a girl ! Fancy washing one of my fine glass dishes 
in boiling water ! But it serves me right for trusting those idiots 
to do anything.” 

Her voice sounded harsh and rasping, as she roughly pushed 
Ben out of the way. Eline, in unusually good humour, offered 
her assistance, which was readily accepted by Betsy. She had 
a great many things to do yet, she said ; but all the same she sat 
down, watching Eline carefully washing and drying the dishes one 
by one, with light graceful movements, without moistening her 
fingers or spilling one drop ; and she was conscious of the contrast 
between her own rough-and-ready way of doing things— the outcome 
of robust health— and Eline’s languid grace, mingled as it was wdth 
somewhat of fear of tiring or bespattering herself. 

** By the bye, when I was at the Verstraetens’ yesterday, I heard 
they were not going to the opera this evening, as they were tired 
from last night ; aunt asked me if I would like the box. Do you 
care to go to the opera ? ” 

“ And what about your visitors ? ” 

“Jeanne Ferelyn is going early, because her child is unwell, and 


ELINE VERE. 


21 


I wanted to as!: Emilie and her brother to come too. Henk can 
stay at home. It is a box for four, you know.” 

Very well ; I don’t mind.’' 

Well satisfied with herself, Eline was just putting down the last 
tray, when all at once a violent altercation broke out in the kitchen, 
accompanied by the silvery clattering of forks and spoons. It was 
Crete and Mina engaged in rather forcible argument. Betsy hurried 
out of the room, and very soon, curt commands and impudent 
answers followed each other in rapid succession. 

Ben in the meantime remained standing open-mouthed, and 
somewhat drowsily, on the spot where his mother had pushed him, 
full of silent alarm at all the hubbub. 

“ Come, Ben, to auntie’s room,” said Eline, and smilingly she 
held out her hand towards him. He came, and both proceeded 
up-stairs. 

Eline occupied two rooms on the ground floor, a bedroom and 
a boudoir. With the economy and good taste which were common 
to her nature, she had succeeded in imparting to these rooms a 
semblance of luxury, with somewhat of an artistic polish. Her 
piano occupied an angle in the wall ; the heavy foliage of a giant 
azalea cast a softening shade over the low, damask-covered couch. 
In a corner stood a small table laden with innumerable precious 
trifles. Statuettes, pictures, feathers, palm branches, filled every 
nook. The pink marble mantelpiece was crowned with a miniature 
Venetian mirror, suspended by red cords and tassels. In front 
stood an Amor and Psyche, after Canova, the group depicting 
a maiden in the act of removing her veil, and a love-sick, light- 
winged god. 

When Eline entered with Ben, the ruddy glow from the hearth 
shone on her cheeks. She threw the child a few tattered volumes 
of engravings, and he settled himself on the sofa, soon absorbed 
in the pictures. Eline entered her bedroom, the windows of which 
were still covered with daintily-formed leaves and flowers, the 
effect of the night’s frost. Yonder stood a toilette duchesse — a 
vision of tulle and lace — touched up here and there with the satin 
bows of old ball bouquets, and laden with scent phials of Sevres 
and fine cut-glass. In the midst of all this wealth of pink and 
white the mirror glittered like a sheet of burnished silver. The 
bedstead was hidden among red draperies, and in the corner against 
the door a tall cheval glass reflected a flood of liquid sunshine. 


22 


ELINE VERB. 


For a moment Eline glanced round, to see if her maid had 
arranged everything to her satisfaction ; then shivering in the 
chilly atmosphere she returned to her sitting-room and closed the 
door. With its semi-Eastem luxury the room was a most pleasant 
one, its comfort seemingly enhanced by the cold white glare reflected 
from the snow outside. 

Eline felt as though brimming over with melody — a feeling 
which could only find adequate expression in song. She chose the 
waltz from Mireille. And she sang it with variations of her 
own, with modulations now swelling into a full, rich volume of 
melody, now melting away into the faintest diminuendo, with 
brilliant shakes and roulades clear as those of a lark. She no 
longer thought of the cold and snow outside. Then suddenly 
remembering that she had not practised for three days, she 
commenced singing scales, brightening her high notes, and 
trying a difficult portamento. Her voice resounded with a 
metallic ring, somewhat cold, but clear and bright as crystal. 

Ben, though well used to these jubilant tones, which reverberated 
through the whole house, sat listening in open-mouthed wonder, 
without bestowing a further glance on his pictures, now and again 
giving a sudden start when some exceptionally shrill high si or do 
would penetrate his ears. 

Eline was herself at a loss to account for her sadness of yesterday. 
How and whence came that fit of melancholy, without any definite 
cause? what was the overwhelming joy too that could have so 
suddenly chased those clouds away ? 

To-day she felt animated, happy, joyous ; she was sorry that she 
had not seen the tableaux yesterday, and she feared that Mr. and 
Madame Verstraeten did not take her indisposition au sdrieux. 
What a nice, pleasant man he was, Mr. Verstraeten, always full 
of fun ! and Madame Verstraeten, what a dear good soul ! She 
knew no one like her, so charming and kind. And then, seated 
at her piano, now practising a shake, then a chromatic scale, she 
allowed her thoughts to wander to other nice people amongst her 
acquaintances. Yes ; all had their good qualities : the Ferelyns, 
Emilie de Woude, old Madame van Raat, Madame van 
Eflevoort, even Madame van der Stoor. As for Cateau she was 
a doll. 

And the idea struck her that she would rather like to join that 


ELINE VERE. 


23 


company of players. Yes ; they had an admirable conception of 
the amenities of life. Frdddrique, Marie, Lili, Paul and Etienne, 
ever gay, ever together, full of droll plans for their amusement. 
Indeed, it must be very nice, prettily arrayed in romantic 
costumes, to be the objects of general admiration. Paul had a 
very pretty voice, it would be splendid to sing duets with him. It 
quite slipped her memory that only a few days ago she had as- 
sured her singing-master that his voice was absolutely void of tone. 
But to-day she was in a pleasant humour, and sang a second waltz, 
that of “Juliette ” in Gounod’s opera. She adored Gounod. 

It had just struck half-past ten when there was a knock at the 
door. 

“ Come in,” she cried, and looking round she let her slender 
lingers rest on the keyboard. Paul van Raat entered. 

“ Bon jour, Eline. Hallo, young rascal ! ” 

“ What, Paul, you ? ” She rose, somewhat surprised to see him. 
Ben ran towards his uncle and hoisted himself up on his knees. 

“ How early you are ! I thought you were coming to sing this 
afternoon. But you are welcome all the same ; do you hear ? Sit 
down and tell me about the tableaux,” Eline exclaimed with much 
animation ; then, remembering her illness of the previous day, she 
continued in a languid voice — 

“ I was awfully sorry I was so ill yesterday. Plad a terrible 
headache.” 

“ You don’t look much the worse for it.” 

‘‘It’s true, Paul, really. If I had been well, don’t you think I 
should have come and admired your talent ? Come, tell me— tell 
me all about it,” and she drew him with her to the sofa and threw 
the pictures on the floor. 

Paul had some difnculty in freeing himself from Ben, who clung 
to his legs. 

“ Come, let go, Ben. And is the headache better now* ? ” 

“Oh yes; quite gone. This afternoon I’ll go round to Mr. 
Verstraeten to give my congratulations. But, Paul, do tell me ” 

“ I was just about to tell you that I was not coming to sing this 
afternoon ; do you hear, Elly ? I couldn’t bring out a note ; I am 
quite hoarse with the howling and screaming of yesterday. But 
we managed splendidly,” and he commenced describing the tableaux. 

It was all his idea, and much of it the work of his own hands ; 
but the girls too had been hard at it for the last month — getting 

3 


24 


ELINE VERB. 


up the dresses, attending to a thousand trifles. That afternoon 
Losch was coming to ta’ie a photograph of the last group ; so 
that, even had he been in good voice, he could not have come to 
sing. And how stiff in his joints he felt ! for he had slaved away 
like a navvy, and the girls must be quite exhausted also. No; he 
had formed no part in the grouping, he was too busy making all 
the arrangements. He fell back a little on the rich damask cushions 
of the sofa, under the shading branches of the azalea, and stroked 
his hair. 

Eline thought how much he resembled Henk, although he was 
ten years younger, more slender in figure, livelier, with more 
delicate features, and an expression of much greater intelligence. 
But a simple gesture or movement, a raising of the eyebrows, would 
now and again very distinctly illustrate that resemblance, and 
although his lips were thinner under his light moustache than 
Henk’s heavily-bearded upper lip, his laugh was deep and full as 
that of his brother. 

‘^Why don’t you take painting lessons of a good master, Paul?” 
asked Eline. ‘‘ Surely if you have talent ” 

‘^But I have not,” he laughed. ‘‘It would not be worth the 
trouble. I just dabble a bit in it, just as I do with my singing. 
It amounts to nothing at all, any of it.” And he sighed at his 
lack of energy to make the most of the little talent he might 
possess. 

“ You remind me of papa,” she said, and her words assumed 
a tone of sadness, as the idealized image of her father rose to her 
memory. “ Yes ; he had great talents, but latterly his health failed 
him, and he could not produce the great creation of which his soul 
was capable. I well remember that he was engaged on an immense 
canvas, a scene from Dante’s Paradiso I believe, when— when 
he died. Poor papa ! But you are young and strong, and I can’t 
understand why you don’t do something great, something out of 
the common.” 

“You know, I suppose, that I am going to be engaged at Hovel’s. 
Uncle Verstraeten has arranged it for me.” 

Hovel was a barrister, and as Paul had, at a somewhat early age, 
and after a period of alternate studying and idleness, passed the 
law examination. Uncle Verstraeten thought he would be doing the 
young barrister a good turn if he recommended him to his friend. 


ELINE VERE. 2 $ 

It had therefore been arranged that Paul should continue working 
at Hovel’s office, until he could go in practice for himself. 

“ At Hovel’s ? A very nice man ; I like his wife very much. 
Oh, that will be splendid, Paul.” 

I hope so.” 

‘‘But still, if I were a man I should try and become famous. 
Come, Ben, don’t be troublesome now ; go and look at the nice 
pictures on the floor. Wouldn’t you think it splendid to be 
famous ? ^ Really, if I weren’t Eline Vere I should become an 
actress.” And she gave vent to a series of brilliant shakes, which 
fell from her lips like a sparkling chain of diamonds. 

“Famous!” and with a contemptuous shrug of the shoulders. 
“What a silly idea, to be sure. Famous! No; I don’t want to 
be famous, not a bit. But for all that I should like to paint well, 
or sing well, or something.” 

“ Then why don’t you take lessons, either in painting or music ? 
Shall I speak to my master ? ” 

“No, thanks; not that old growler of a Roberts, if I can help 
it. And besides, Eline, it isn’t really worth while ; I should never 
be able to keep it up whatever it was. I am subject to sudden 
fits, you see. Then I think I can do anything, then I am anxious 
to hit upon some great subject for a picture ” 

“ Like papa,” she interrupted with a sad smile. 

“At other times the fit moves me to make the most of what 
voice I have ; but before long all those grand ideas have died their 
own death of sheer inanition, and then I continue in the same old 
jog-trot as before.” 

“ You ought to be ashamed of yourself.” 

“ Henceforth I shall go and hide the aspirations of my genius 
in law cases,” he answered with a laugh, as he rose from his 
seat. “ But now I must be off to the Princesse-gracht, to the Ver- 
straetens’. So don’t expect me this afternoon ; we have several 
details to arrange yet before Losch comes. Adieu, Eline ; bye-bye, 
Ben.” 

“ Bon jour ; I hope you’ll soon get over your hoarseness.” 

Paul went, and Eline once more sat down at the piano. For a 
while she sat thinking what a pity it was Paul had so little energy, 
and from him her thoughts reverted again to Henk. But she felt 
altogether too light-hearted this morning to do much philosophizing, 
and, full of exuberant spirits demanding an outlet, she continued 


26 


ELINE VERE. 


her singing, until the mid-day gong summoned her and Ben 
down-stairs. 

Paul had told his mother that he would not be home that after- 
noon for coffee, as he would be at the Verstraetens’. He lodged at 
Madame van Raat’s, in the Laan van Meerdervoort. Madame van 
Raat, an elder sister of Madame Verstraeten, was a stately dame, 
with pensive, light-blue eyes, and hair of silver gray, dressed in 
old-fashioned style, Avhilst over her whole being there was suffused, 
as it were, a calmness, a placid resignation, that unmistakably spoke 
of former days free from troubles and disappointments. As walking 
exercise was becoming irksome to her, she was mostly to be found 
seated In her high -backed arm-chair, the dull-gray head drooping 
on her bosom, the blue-veined hands folded in her lap. Thus she 
continued to lead a quiet, monotonous existence, the aftermath of 
a placid, all but cloudless life, by the side of her husband, on whose 
portrait she frequently allowed her eyes to dwell, as it hung before 
her yonder, in its smart general’s uniform ; a good-looking, frank, 
manly face, with a pair of truthful, intelligent eyes, and an en- 
gaging expression about the firm, closed mouth. To her, life had 
brought but few great sorrows, and for that, in the simplicity of her ^ 
faith, she felt piously grateful. But now, now she Avas tired, oh ! 
so tired, her spirit quite broken by the death of that husband to 
whom, to the last, she had clung with an affection constant and 
calm as the bosom of a limpid stream, into the placid waters of 
which the impetuous waves of her youthful love had floAved away. 
After his death, she began to Avorry over every trifling circumstance, 
petty vexations with servants and tradespeople. All these she 
connected, until to her mind they formed an unbroken chain of 
irksome burdens. Yes, she felt she was groAving old; time had 
little more to give her, and so, in silent egoism, she mused her 
life away in the long- vanished poesy of the past. She had had 
three children : her youngest, a girl, was dead. 

Of her two sons, her favourite was Henk, Avho, strong and big, 
reminded her the most of his father, whilst in her eyes his sleepy 
good-nature had more of open, frank manliness, than Paul’s finer- 
strung fickleness and airy geniality. Paul she had always found 
too unsettled and nervous : formerly, in his constantly inter- 
rupted studies at Leyden— at last, thanks to a little moral pressure 
on the part of Uncle Verstraeten, croAvned Avith promotion — as well as 


ELINE VERE. 


27 


now with his staying out late at night, his rage for painting, tableaux- 
vivants and duets, or his fits of indolence, when he would lounge 
away a whole afternoon on the sofa, over a book he did not read. ( 

Before his marriage, Hcnk, being of a more staid and homely 
character than Paul, felt himself better at ease in his mothers 
house ; although he was quiet, his silence never irritated her ; it 
was like the silence of a faithful dog, watching with half-closed 
eyes over his mistress. She felt so at her ease with Henk. She 
disliked being alone, for it was in solitude that the memories of 
the past contrasted in their rosy brightness too sharply with the 
leaden-gray that was the prevailing hue of her present life, and 
Paul she saw but rarely, except when hastily swallowing his dinner, 
in order to keep an appointment. She seldom went out, unac- 
customed as she had grown to the noisy traffic of the streets, and 
the hum of many voices. 

Henk was her pet, and with her mental vision unimpaired, 
wherever at least her son was concerned, she regretted his marriage 
with Betsy Vere. No; she was not a fit wife for her child, and 
knowing that, she could not bring herself to give him her hearty 
approval or her parental blessing, when he told her of his engage- 
ment. Still, she refrained from opposing her beloved son in his 
choice, fearing lest she should be the cause of unhappiness ; it was 
therefore under a false assumption of frankness, at which she was 
surprised herself, that she had concealed her ill-feeling against the 
intruder, and welcomed her as her daughter. All the same, she felt 
deeply concerned about Henk. Madame Vere she had known 
slightly ; passionate and domineering, she never found anything 
attractive in such a personality, and this daughter reminded her 
too much of that mother. Although, in her eyes, Henk was pos- 
sessed of much more firmness of character than Vere, of whom she 
could not think but as a pallid, ailing sufferer, only too glad to 
allow his wife to think and act for him ; although Henk, as she 
thought, had all the frank manliness of character of his father, and 
would not allow himself to be domineered over ; still, happy as she 
had been with van Raat, it would never be his lot to be. And at 
that thought she would sigh and her eyes would grow moist ; her 
mother’s love, despite her blindness to his failings, was the instinct 
which gave her an inkling of the truth, and if she could have taken 
his place, she would gladly have given up her own former happi- 
ness to her son, and have suffered for him. 


28 


ELINE VERE. 


Her thoughts ran away with her as she saw Leentje, the servant, 
laying the cloth for lunch for herself alone, and with a weary resig- 
nation at the hateful loneliness of her days, she sat down. To- 
morrow would be to her as to-day ; what remained of her life was 
but an aftermath of summer, and though autumn and winter might 
be free from storms, yet the only promise they held out was that of 
a barren, soulless lethargy. To what end did she live ] 

And so weary did she feel under the leaden pressure of this 
soul-killing loneliness, that she could not even muster up the energy 
to scold Leentje for her clumsiness, although she could not help 
noticing the damage that was done to one of her old china dishes. 

Much earlier than she was wont to go out, Eline went to the 
Verstraetens’ that afternoon. It was near the end of November, 
and winter had already set in with extreme severity. There was a 
sharp frost ; the snow, still white and unsullied, crackled under 
Eline’s light, regular tread, but her feet preferred to feel the smooth- 
ness of the clean-swept pavement ; the delicately-gloved hands 
were hidden away in the small muff. At times bestowing a friendly 
nod, from under her veil, on some passing acquaintance, she pro- 
ceeded along the Java-straat to the Princesse-gracht. She still felt 
in a happy humour, which was quite undisturbed by the little tiff 
she had had with Betsy about some trifling question with the 
servants. These little bickerings were not of such rare occurrence 
lately, although they always irritated Henk beyond measure. 

But Eline had not taken much notice of Betsy’s words, and had 
replied to her with less sharpness than was her wont ; she did not 
care to allow such trifles to spoil her good-humour : life was too 
dear to her 

And feeling glad that she had curbed her temper, she turned the 
corner of the Java-straat. 

At the Verstraetens’ there still prevailed an unusual disorder. 
Dien was loth to admit her, but Eline took no notice, and passed 
inside to the large reception-room, where she found Madame 
Verstraeten, who apologized for being in her dressing-gown. Losch, 
the photographer, half hidden under the green cloth of his apparatus, 
was taking a view of the group representing the Five Senses. The 
girls, Etienne, and Paul smiled their welcome to Eline, who said it 
was splendid still to be able to see something of the tableaux. But 
now, in the chill snow-reflected daylight, the scene no longer 


ELINE VERE. 


29 


created the vivid, glowing impression of the previous evening, nor 
had it the same wealth of colouring, with which a plentiful appli- 
cation of Bengal fire had endowed it. The draperies hung in loose 
and crumpled folds ; Frederique’s cloth of gold had a smudged, 
faded tint, her ermine had more the appearance of white and black 
wool. Etienne’ s fair wig was decidedly out of curl. Lili, repre- 
senting the sense of Smelling, lay half dozing in her pillows. 

“ I am afraid it won’t come to much,” said Marie, as Losch was 
arranging her draperies ; but Toosje van der Stoor thought other- 
wise and remained lying motionless, with a terribly cramped feeling, 
owing to her difficult attitude. 

Eline, unwilling to disturb the artistes in their grouping, sat 
down beside Mr. Verstraeten. He laid away his book and removed 
his eye-glasses, and with his sparkling brown eyes glanced with 
unfeigned pleasure at the graceful girl. 

“ Do you know,” she said, as she unhooked the little fur-lined 
cloak, “ do you know, I am really jealous of that little group there. 
They are always together, always happy and jolly, and full of fun 
and amusing ideas — really I feel quite old by the side of them.” 

“Just fancy that!” answered Madame Verstraeten, laughing. 
“You are of the same age as Marie, three-and-twenty, aren’t you.^” 

“Yes ; but I was never spoilt as Marie and Lili are being now, 
and yet I think I should not have minded a bit. You know, of 
course, when I was a child — papa was mostly ill, and naturally that 
threw a damper over us ; and afterwards at Aunt Vere’s house — 
aunt was a dear, good woman, but much older than papa, and not 
very jolly certainly ” 

“ You must not say anything about Aunt Vere, Eline ! ” said Mr. 
Verstraeten ; “ she was an old flame of mine ” 

“ And yott must not laugh at her ; I was very fond of her ; she 
really was a second mother to us, and when that long illness ended 
in her death, I felt the loss keenly, I was as alone in the world. 
You see, all these things were not exactly calculated to make my 
youth a very gay one.” And she smiled a saddened smile, 
whilst at the thought of all she had been deprived of, her eyes 
glistened with moisture. “ But when you look at Paul and Etienne, 
and the girls, it’s nothing but laughter and pleasure— really, 
enough to make me jealous. And that Toos, too, she is a dear 
child.” , 

The artistes came down from the platform. Losch had finished. 


30 


ELINE VERE. 


Paul and Etienne, with Freddy, Marie, and Cateau came forward, 
whilst Lili went to bed, thoroughly exliausted with the excitement 
of the last two days. 

‘‘ Good morning. Miss Vere,” said Cateau, as she held out her 
little hand to Eline. 

Eline felt a sudden, indescribable, unreasoning sympathy for 
that child, so simple and so unconsciously engaging, and as she 
rose to go, she was obliged to hide her emotion by playfully 
embracing the child. 

Good-bye, darling,” she said dotingly. “ I am going, Madame 
Verstraeten ; there is still plenty left for you to do, now that all that 
excitement is over. Ah ! yes — I promised Betsy to ask you for 
the tickets. May I have them?” 

It was still early, only half-past two, and Eline thought what a 
long time it was since she had visited old Madame van Raat, and 
she knew that the old lady liked her, and was always glad to have 
a chat in the afternoon. Henk never failed to visit his mother 
every morning after his ride, and the two boarhounds, whom his 
wife had banished from his home, followed him undisturbed up the 
stairs in his mother^s house. As for Betsy, of her the old lady saw 
very little ; Betsy was well enough aware that Madame van Raat 
did not care for her. Eline, however, had succeeded in winning 
her affections, by means of a certain most engaging manner she 
had when in the company of aged ladies ; in the tone of her voice, 
in her little attentions, there was a something, a delicate flavour ojf 
respect, which charmed the old dame. 

Eline returned through the Java-straat to the Laan van Meerder- 
voort, and found Madame van Raat alone, seated in her high- 
backed chair, her hands folded in her lap. And in the young girl’s 
eyes she appeared such a picture of mute sadness ; over the rich 
faded furniture there hovered such a melancholy shadow of past 
comfort ; the whole apartment was filled with such an atmosphere 
of sorrow, and about the folds of the dark green curtains there 
hung such a mist of melancholy, that on entering, Eline felt her 
heart grow cold within her, as though a voice had told her that life 
w^as not worth living. 

But she struggled against the feeling. She recalled those thoughts 
which in the morning had brought her such lightness of heart. She 
smiled, and her tone assumed that vague respect, mingled with 


ELINE VERB. 


31 

somewhat of love and pity, and with much animation she spoke 
about Paul, about the tableaux, about that evening’s dinner, and 
the opera — and promised Madame van Raat to send her some 
books, nice light literature, in which one looked at the world through 
rose-coloured glasses. 

It pained her to chatter in this way ; she would much rather have 
sat and cried with the old dame, in sympathetic melancholy, but 
she controlled herself, and even plucked up courage to touch upon a 
more serious subject. With her engaging, respectful manner, she 
took Madame to task for having been discovered by her with mois- 
tened eyes, which now she would not own ; she was not inquisitive, 
but she would so gladly console and cheer her, if she could ; and 
why did she not again make her her confidante, as she had done 
before, and so on. 

And the old lady, already placed at her ease by this charm of 
manner, smilingly shook her head ; really, there was nothing the 
matter at all ; she only felt a little lonely. Ah, it was her own fault, 
she feared, for there was very little in which she still took any 
interest. Other old people read the papers and continued to take 
an interest in things generally ; but not she. Yes, it was all her own 
fault ; but Eline was a dear girl ; why could not Betsy be a little 
like her t 

And with increased animation, she began to talk about her dear 
husband ; over there was his portrait. . . . 

It was past four when Eline hurried away ; it was growing dark, 
it was thawing, and the lowering clouds threatened to fall upon her 
and choke her. That old lady had been happy, very happy. . . . 
and she, Eline, was not happy, even at her age — oh ! how would 
she feel when she too would be old, ugly, and shrivelled up ! To 
her even the memories of the past would bring no comfort, nor yet 
the solacing thought that happiness did exist, that she had tasted 
its sweets ; to her all would be dull and leaden as the clouds above ! 

Oh, God, why live, if life were void of happiness ?— why, why ? ” 
she whispered, and she hurried on to dress for dinner. 

It was to be a simple, homely little dinner. At half-past six the 
Ferelyns came, and shortly after, Emilie and Georges. Betsy re- 
ceived them in the drawing-room, and asked Jeanne how the child 
was. 

‘^Shc is much easier now, the little dot ; the fever is gone, but stiil 


32 


ELINE VERE. 


she is not quite better. Doctor Reyer said she 'vras getting on. It’s 
very nice of you to have invited us ; a little change is really neces- 
sary for me. But you see, I took your word for it that it would be 
quite a family party, so I haven’t dressed for it.” And with some 
misgiving her eyes wandered from her own plain black dress to 
Betsy’s gown of gray satin. 

Really, there is no one else coming but Emilie here, and her 
brother. But you told me you would be going home early, so we 
have arranged, later on, to look in at the opera, in Uncle Ver- 
straeten’s box. So you need not be uneasy, you were quite right to 
come as you are.” 

Henk, looking jolly and contented, entered in his smoking-jacket, 
and on seeing him Jeanne felt more reassured than by all Betsy’s 
protestations. With Emilie, lively as ever, she was on the most in- 
timate terms, and it was Georges alone, with his immaculate shirt- 
front, and his big gardenia, who made her feel somewhat uneasy at 
her own simple dress. 

Frans Ferelyn, an East-Indian official, was in Holland on 
furlough, and his wife was an old school-mate of Eline’s and 
Betsy’s. 

Jeanne seemed a homely little woman, very quiet and depressed 
under her domestic troubles. Delicate, emaciated, and pallid, 
with a pair of soft brown eyes, she felt crushed under the double 
burden of pecuniary embarrassment and anxiety for her three 
ailing children, and she felt an irresistible longing for India, the 
land of her birth, and for the quiet life she led there. She suffered 
much from the cold, and numbered the months she would still 
have to pass in Holland. She told Emilie of her life at Temang- 
goeng in the Kadoe — Frans was Comptroller first-class — in the 
midst of a menagerie of Cochin-China fowls, ducks, pigeons, a 
cow, two goats, and a cockatoo. “Just like Adam and Eve in 
Paradise,” remarked Emilie. Then she told them how each 
morning she used to look after her Persian roses and her pretty 
azaleas, and gather her vegetables from her own. garden, and how 
her children, immediately on their arrival in Holland, were taken 
ill and began to cough. “ ’Tis true, in India they looked rather 
pale, but there at least they were not obliged to be in constant 
fear of draughts and open doors.” And she was sorry that, owing 
to the expense of the voyage, she had had to come away without 
her baboo, Saripa. She was now in service at Samarang, but she 


ELINE VERE. 33 

had promised to come back to her “ as soon as we are home again,” 
and she was to bring her over some pretty frocks from Holland. 

Emilie listened attentively, and did her best to set her talking ; 
she knew how those Indian reminiscences could draw Jeanne out 
of her usual quiet reserve, Betsy considered her out of place in 
company, so when she did ask her, it was always together with her 
husband, and if possible, with one or two others. The fact was, 
she thought her a bore, generally ill-dressed, and her conversation 
flat and uninteresting, but still she could not help occasionally 
inviting her, more with a kind of pity than anything else. 

While Frans Ferelyn was speaking to Henk about his forth- 
coming promotion to Assistant Resident, and Georges was listening 
to Jeanne telling him about Frans’s horse one day stepping right 
into their room to fetch his pisan^-, Betsy lay back in her chair, 
thinking how long Eline was. She would have liked to have dined 
early, so as not to be so very late at the opera, and she inwardly 
hoped that the Ferelyns would not be indiscreet and stay too long. 
Amusing they certainly were not, she thought, and she rose, 
concealing her impatience, to fix a bunch of peacock feathers in 
one of the vases, a few of the knick-knacks on the little centre table ; 
then with her foot she arranged the tiger-skin rug in front of the 
flaming hearth, all the time feeling annoyed at Eline’s delay. 

At length the door opened and Eline entered, and Jeanne could 
not help noticing how pretty and elegant she looked in her pink 
rep silk frock, simple but rich, with a neat little bow here and 
there on her V-shaped corsage, on the short sleeves, and at the 
w^aist. In her light-brown, back-combed hair she wore a 
of wavy pink feathers with a small aigrette ; her nimble feet 
were encased in small pink shoes ; a single string of pearls 
encircled her throat. In her hands she held her long gloves, her 
fan of pink ostrich feathers, and her binocle set in mother-of-pearl. 

Ferelyn and de Woude rose, and she shook hands with them, 
and kissed Emilie and Jeanne, at the same time inquiring about 
little Dora. She noticed how all, even Henk and Betsy, took 
stock of her, from head to foot, struck as they were with the rich 
simplicity of her dress : and when Jeanne spoke to her about her 
child, she smiled upon the struggling little woman, all conscious of 
the effect of her brilliant charms. 

At table, Eline chatted pleasantly with de Woude, next to v/hom 


34 


ELINE VERE. 


she was seated. Betsy sat between her two gentlemen guests, 
Emilie between Henk and Frans, Jeanne between Eline and Henk. 
In the somewhat sombre dining-room, with its antique furniture, 
the table glistened with snowy damask, with silver and fine glass, 
whilst the rays of gas-light glinted on decanters and glasses, 
making the dark-red or amber-coloured wine appear to quiver under 
the glow of its radiance. From amid a nest of flowers in a silver 
basket rose the prickly crown of a splendid pine. 

De Woude commenced telling Eline about the soirde at the 
Verstraetens’, and in glowing terms described how well Miss van 
Erlevoort had looked her parts, successively as Cleopatra and the 
sense. of Sight. With Emilie, Frans, and Betsy the conversation 
turned on India. In this Jeanne joined every now and again, but 
she sat too far away, and her attention was diverted by de Woude^s 
chattering and the little shrill laugh of Eline, who was engaged 
in a mild flirtation. 

Henk drank his soup and ate his fish in silence, occasionally 
addressing a short monosyllable to Jeanne or Emilie. And Jeanne 
grew more and more silent, as much from feeling ill at ease, as 
from fatigue at her long talk to Emilie after a day full of worries. 
She felt very much out of place, next to that coquettish couple. 
Eline in full toilet, de Woude in his evening dress, to which her own 
little black dress offered a shabby contrast. Still, she was glad she 
sat next to Henk, and in her own itialaise she was conscious of a 
vague sort of sympathy for him, who was as much out of place 
there as herself. 

And she could not help comparing herself with Eline and Betsy : 
she, struggling with her three children and her husband’s slender 
furlough allowance ; Eline and Betsy, on the other hand, un- 
hampered, and ever moving in a whirl of pleasures and excitement. 
Where was the old, happy friendship that united them in one bond, 
when all three used to go hand-in-hand to school, Eline with the 
cape of her mackintosh filled with cherries, and she herself under 
Betsy’s leadership giving free vent to her childish spirits in naughty 
answers to the governess ? She felt herself repelled by that young 
wife, with her self-conscious, indifferent manner, and her domineer- 
ing tone towards her husband ; repelled also by that young girl, w'ho 
appeared to her frivolous and vain in her conversation, full of 
brilliant nothings ; and by that dandy. Eline, especially, she could 
not understand ; in her she found something uncommon, something 


ELINE VERE. 


35 


indefinable and puzzling, and certain attributes which seemed ever 
at war with one another. Her laughter about nothing at all 
wearied her, and she wondered how it was that a girl who, as they 
said, sang so divinely, could have such an unpleasant and affected 
laugh. Oh ! if they would but be silent for a moment ! . . . . 
And in her heart she longed to be back once more in her humble 
apartments, with her little Dora. Why had she accepted that 
invitation? 'Tis true Frans had insisted, now that the child was 
out of danger, that she should have some change and relaxation, 
but this dinner-party gave her no relaxation ; on the contrary, 
it made her nervous and confused, and she declined Henkes 
offer of sweetbreads and asparagus which he recommended 
her. 

Did I hear aright. Miss Emilie ; is Mr. de Woude a brother of 
yours 1 ” Frans asked softly. It was the first time that he had met 
either Emilie or Georges, and he was as much struck by their 
resemblance as by the contrast between them. 

“ Certainly,” whispered Emilie ; “ and I am proud of him too. 
He is an awful swell, but a nice boy ; he is engaged at the Foreign 
Office. Be careful, don’t you think bad of him!” she laughed, 
and held up her finger threateningly, as though she read Ferelyn’s 
thoughts. 

“ I have scarcely exchanged more than half a dozen words with 
Mr. de Woude as yet, so I should be sorry to express any opinion 
about him so soon,” he said, a little alarmed at Emilie’s brusqueness. 

“That’s right; most people get a very different opinion of 
Georges after they have known him some time, from that formed 
when they first met him. You see, like a loving sister, I take my 
brother’s part. Just fill my glass, please.” 

“ Yes ; you champion him even before he is attacked ! ” resumed 
Ferelyn smiling, as he filled her glass ; “ but thus much I can see 
already, that he is a spoilt pet of the ladies, not only of his sisters, 
but also of Madame van Raat and Miss Vere.” 

Betsy joined in the conversation with Eline and Georges, feeling 
attracted by the latter’s lively manner, as he chatted away, skim- 
ming over all sorts of subjects ; a conversation without substance, 
without actual wit, but light as foam, airy as soap-bubbles, spark- 
ling as firework crackers. In such a conversation she was in 
her element ; serious talk, be it ever so spirited, was too burden- 
some for her ; but this tintinnabulation of sparks and foam-flecks. 


ELINE VERE. 


36 

like wine glistening through crystal beakers, charmed her exceed- 
ingly. She thought Georges much more amusing than he was 
yesterday at the Verstraetens’, where he had twice observed that 
the effect of red light was more flattering than that of green. 
To-day he did not repeat himself, but rattled on, interrupting her 
with laughing impudence, and rounding off his sentences with truly 
French vivacity. 

Several times Eline tried to lead Jeanne into that circle of 
sparkling nothings, but in return Jeanne had only smiled a faint 
smile, or just answered with a single monosyllable, and at length 
Eline gave up the attempt to draw her out. The conversation grew 
more’general ; Emilie joined in with her easy nonchalance and airy 
banter ; and Frans, in the midst of this charmed circle, could not 
help throwing in a stray spark of fun, although his eyes frequently 
rested with an anxious look on his quiet little wife. 

To Jeanne it seemed as though the dinner would never come to an 
end. Although she had not the slightest appetite, she did not like 
to continue refusing, so she took of the truffled chicken, of the 
gdteau Henri /F., of the pines, and the choice dessert ; her wine, 
however, she merely touched with her lips. Hcnk, next her, ate 
much, and with evident gusto, wondering why she helped herself 
to such small portions. De Woude ate but little, his continued 
talking prevented that ; but Emilie did her share, and was not 
sparing with the wine. 

It was past eight when they rose, and the ladies retired to the 
drawing-room. Frans joined Henk and de Woude in a cigar, as 
Jeanne had expressed her desire to stay another half-hour. Betsy 
had asked her to do so ; she could not let her guests go so soon, 
and there would be plenty of time for the opera. 

“ Is Dora often ill, Jeanne?” asked Eline, as with a rustle of her 
red silk she sat down on the sofa beside her, and took her hand. 
“ Last time I saw her nothing ailed her, and even then I thought 
she was looking very pale and delicate.” 

Jeanne gently withdrew her hand, and felt something like irri- 
tation at such a question after the conversation at table. She made 
but curt reply. But Eline persisted, as though she intended by 
her present amiability to make good her former neglect ; and she 
managed to impart such a sympathetic tone to her voice, that 
Jeanne felt quite touched. Jeanne began to express her fears that 
Doctor Pveyer had not examined her little girl as carefully as he 


ELINE VERE. 


37 

might ; and Eiine, ^Yhilst sipping her coffee, listened with evident 
interest to her maternal plaints. Emilie and Betsy had meanwhile 
gone into the adjoining boudoir, to look at some fashion-plates. 

“ Poor girl ! what a lot of cares and worries you have, and 
scarcely three months in Holland yet ! You only arrived in 
September, did you not?” asked Eiine, as she placed the little china 
cup on the round table in front of her. 

Jeanne was silent; but all at once she rose up, and in her turn 
grasping Eline’s slender fingers, she remarked, in her longing for 
affection — 

“ Eiine, you know I have always been pretty straightforward and 
frank ; may I ask you something ? ” 

“ Of course you may,” answered Eiine, rather surprised. 

“ Well, then — why we are no longer to each other what we were 
formerly, when your parents were still living? It is now four years 
since I married and went to India, and now that we have re- 
turned, now when I see you again, all seems so different between 
yourself and me- I have no acquaintances, and but few relations 
in the Hague, and I should so much like to keep my old friends to 
myself.” 

** But, Jeanne ” 

“Yes; I know you think it foolish of me to talk like that; 
but at times I feel so terribly depressed with all that flummery 
and false excitement, I do so long to unburden myself to some 
dear true friend — for of course I cannot say all I wish to my 
husband.” 

“ Why not?” 

“ Oh, he has enough of his own worries ; he is ill, and — 
peevish.” 

“ But, Jeanne, I really don’t see what change has come between us.” 

“Perhaps it is only my fancy after all. You see, formerly we 
used to be oftener together, now you move in such a different 
circle. You go out a good deal, and I — well, you see, we have 
become much estranged from one another.” 

“But considering that we have not seen each other for four 
years ” 

“ But we kept up the correspondence.” 

“ What value is there in three or four letters in the course 
of a year ? Doesn’t it seem natural that one’s ideas change, 
as one gets older, and is placed in different circumstances? 


ELINE VERE. 


38 

Yes ; I have had my cares and worries too. First it was dear 
papa, then Aunt Vere, whom I attended in her illness ” 

“ Are you happy here ? can you get along with Betsy ? ” 

“ Oh yes, admirably, or I should not stay with her, of course.” 
Eline, with her usual reserve, deemed it unnecessary to say more 
about it. 

“ You see, there is no need for you to trouble yourself about any- 
thing,” Jeanne continued ; “ things come about just as you wish - 
them ; you are free and unfettered, and live only for your pleasures — 
it is all so different with me.” 

But surely all that does not justify you in saying that we have 
become estranged from each other. In the first place, I think 
‘ estranged * is a most unpleasant word, and secondly, it is not true, 
whatever word you may use.” 

“Oh yes.” 

“ Oh no. I assure you, Jeanne dear, if I can be of service to 
you in any way, you will find me quite at your disposal. Do you 
believe me ? ” 

“ Yes, I do, and I thank you very much. But, Eline ” 

“Well?” 

Several questions rose to Jeanne’s lips. She felt eager to ask her 
to tell her more about herself, to be more free and open with her ; 
but the studied cordiality of the smile that hovered about the delicate 
lips, and was reflected in those dreamy, almond eyes, effectually 
silenced her. And she felt a sudden regret at her frankness towards 
such a coquette of a girl deftly playing with her fan ; it was 
mere waste of time in talking to her. Why had she allowed herself 
to yield to the first impulse ? for they were entirely unsuited to one 
another .... 

“ Well?” Eline repeated, at the same time fearing what the next 
question might be. 

“Another time, when we are alone again ! ” stammered Jeanne, 
and she rose, dissatisfied, annoyed with herself, feeling ready to 
burst into tears, after that unsociable dinner and fruitless conver- 
sation. Betsy and Emilie were just leaving the boudoir. 

Jeanne thought it was time to be going. The three gentlemen 
came in, and Henk assisted her with her cloak. With a forced 
cordiality she took her leave, thanking Betsy for her invitation, and 
again she shivered with annoyance when Eline kissed her cheeks. 

^HVhat an awful bore she is, that Jeanne !” said Betsy, after the 


ELINE VERE. 


39 

Ferelyns had gone. She scarcely opened her mouth. What 
were you talking about together, Eline?” 

“ Oh— about Dora, and her husband, nothing else.” 

“ Poor girl ! ” said Emilie pityingly. “ Come, Georges, just fetch 
my cloak.” 

. Mina, however, was just coming in with the ladies’ wraps, andde 
Woude put on his ulster, whilst Henk rubbed his big hands, well 
pleased at the prospect of spending the evening at home after a 
nice dinner. The carriage had already been waiting outside in the 
thawing snow for the last half-hour, with Dirk the coachman and 
Herman the footman seated on the box, half smothered in their big 
fur capes. 

* ♦ s#: * * ♦ 

“ Oh, Frans, never ask me to accept another invitation of the 
van Raats ! ” said Jeanne, in an imploring voice, as, on her hus- 
band’s arm, she shiveringly went splashing along the muddy streets, 
while, with her little hands benumbed with cold, she constantly 
endeavoured to keep her cloak fastened, each time that a gust of 
wind blew the ends open. “ Really I don’t feel at home any more 
with them, with Betsy and Eline.” 

He shrugged his shoulders and said nothing. They plodded on 
with their mud-bespattered shoes, in the flickering light of the 
street lanterns, whose dull rays were reflected with monotonous 
regularity in the numerous puddles they had to pass. 

The third act of Le TrihiU de Zamora had just commenced, when 
Betsy, Emilie, Eline, and Georges entered their box. There was a 
full house, and their arrival broke in upon the silence that prevailed 
in the listening auditorium ; there was a rustling of silk and satin > 
a hundred eyes and opera-glasses were directed to their box, 
and here and there the question was whispered, ‘‘Who are 
they?” 

Emilie and Eline sat down in front, Betsy and Georges behind 
them, while Eline laid down her fan and her pearl-rimmed binocle. 
Then she slowly commenced to untie her white plush, red satin- 
lined cloak, and as a cloud of pink and white it glided from her 
shoulders, and de Woude folded it over the back of her fauteuil. 
And in the triumph of her beauty it did her good to see how she 
was stared at and admired. 

“ What a number of people there are here this evening ! we are 

4 


40 


ELINE VERE. 


fortunate,” whispered Emilie. There’s nothing, I think, so wretched 
as to see an empty house.” 

“ You are right ! ” said Betsy. “ Look, there are the Eekhofs, 
Ange and Leonie, with their mamma. They were at the Verstraetens’ 
too yesterday ; next week they are giving a soirde dansante” And 
she nodded to the girls. 

“ The new baritone from Brussels, Th^o Fabrice, sings this even- 
ing,” said de Woude to Eline. “You know that since the ddbuts 
commenced, two have been dismissed ; he makes the third.” 

“ How terribly long those debuts are this winter ! ” remarked 
Eline, in an indifferent tone. 

“The tenor robusto was all right from the first, but they say 
Fabrice is very good too. Look, there he comes.” 

The chorus of Ben-Said’s odalisques was ended, and the Moorish 
sovereign entered his palace, leading Xaima by the hand. But 
Eline paid little attention ; she glanced round the theatre, and gave 
a friendly nod of recognition as her eyes met those of some ac- 
quaintance, and she did not cast another glance in the direction of 
the stage until Ben-Said and his slave were seated under the canopy, 
and the ballet commenced. That attracted her, and her eyes 
followed the daitseitsesy as, gliding along on the tips of their toes, 
they ranged themselves in groups beneath the Moorish arches, and 
under the uplifted veils and fans of sdver fringe, their forms en- 
cased in corsages of glossy satin, and all a-glitter with the spangles 
on their gauze-like frocks. 

“ A pretty ballet ! ” said Emilie, yawning behind her fan, and 
she leaned back cosily in her fauteuil, somewhat under the generous 
influence of her choice dinner. 

Eline nodded her head, and while at the back of her she could 
hear Betsy and Georges whispering together, she still followed the 
clever gyrations of the premiere danseuse^ as with graceful move- 
ments she hovered beneath the waving fans of the dancers on the 
tips of her pointed, satin-clad feet, a dazzling aigrette of diamonds 
in her hair. 

With her dreamy, idealistic nature, Eline was passionately fond 
of the opera, not only because it afforded her the opportunity of 
being the object of general admiration, not only because of the 
music, or that she was anxious to hear one or another aria sung by 
some celebrated prima donna, but also because of the intricate, 
romantic-coloured plot, the somewhat rudely-painted melodramatic 


ELINE VERE. 


41 


effects, full of hatred and love and revenge, the conventionality of 
which did not trouble her, and in which she did not even look for 
any truth. There was no need for her to forget for one moment 
that they were but actors and actresses whom she saw before her, 
and not knights and noble ladies ; that she was seated in a crowded, 
brilliantly illumined theatre, looking at painted scenes, and listen- 
ing to the harmony of a visible orchestra, and not living with hero 
and heroine through some more or less poetic period of the middle 
ages ; but none the less did she enjoy herself, if the actors did not 
sing too badly, nor play with too much prosy conventionality. 

Betsy, on the other hand, went to the opera with the object only 
of seeing and being seen ; Eline’s intense enjoyment she would 
have voted childish in the extreme, but Eline enjoyed in secret, for 
she suspected Betsy’s opinion, and so left her sister in the belief 
that she, like herself, found no pleasure in the theatre but to see 
and to be seen by friends and acquaintances. 

The ballet was at an end. Ben-Said and Xai'ma descended from 
their throne, and he sang the recitative — 

“ Je m’efforce en vain de te plaire ! 

and then the air ; 

“ O Xai'ma, daigne m’entendre ! 

Mon ame est a toi sans retour ! ” 

The new baritone’s voice was full and sonorous, more like that of 
a basso cantante, and in his song he enveloped it as with a veil of 
melancholy. 

But in his rich Moorish dress he had a heavy appearance ; and 
neither in his attitude nor in his acting did he succeed in imparting 
even the merest semblance of amorous homage, and he looked at 
the prima donna^ in her dress of cloth of silver, and her long pearl- 
clad fair hair, with more of threatening rage in his glance than with 
the humility of a tender devotion. 

Eline was not insensible to the shortcomings in his acting ; but 
still, the very contrast between the expression of haughty superiority 
in his demeanour and the tone of humility in his voice pleased her. 
She followed every note of the song, and when at the sudden for- 
tissimo of Ben-Sa'id’s metallic organ, the actress appeared to tremble 
with terror, Eline asked herself the question— 

“ Why is she so frightened, I wonder t — what is the matter ? Ele 
does not look so bad.” 


42 


ELINE VERE. 


And during the applause that followed the song she glanced 
round the theatre, when by accident her eye fell upon a group of 
gentlemen standing just at the entrance to the stalls. She noticed 
how they stared at her box, and with her graceful languor she was 
about to draw back a little, when she saw one of them look at her 
with a smile of recognition. For a moment she looked at him with 
wide-opened eyes, and in her surprise did not return the salu- 
tation, but with a quick movement she turned round, laid her hand 
on Betsy’s shoulder, and whispered in her ear — 

“ Just look, Betsy ; do you see who is standing there ?” 

“Where? who?’’ 

“ There, in the stalls — Vincent — don’t you see ? ” 

“ Vincent ! ” Betsy repeated, amazed in her turn. “ So it is, 
Vincent ! ” 

They both nodded to Vincent, who laughingly fixed them with 
his glass, upon which Eline hid her face coquettishly behind her 
fan. 

“ Who is it ? who is Vincent ? ” asked Emilie and Georges. 

“ Vincent Vere, a first cousin,” Betsy answered. “ Oh, such a 
silly boy ; nobody ever knows w'here he is ; sometimes you don’t 
see him for months at a time, then all at once he stands before you 
again. I had no idea at all that he was at the Hague. Eline, for 
gracious sake, don’t fidget so with that fan.” 

“ I don’t want him to stare at me,” said Eline ; and with a 
graceful turn of her shapely arm she held her fan before her 
face. 

“ When did you see your cousin last, Madame van Raat ? ” asked 
Georges. 

“ Oh, more than eighteen months ago. I think he was going 
to London, where he was to be a reporter on a paper, or some- 
thing of that sort. Fancy, they say he was in the Foreign Legion 
in Algeria for some time, but I don’t believe it. He has been every- 
where, and he never has a sou.'^ 

“ Yes ; now I remember, I have seen him before,” said Emilie, 
with a yawn. “ A curious customer.” 

“ Yes, that he is. But you see here, at the Hague, where Tie 
has relations, he knows he must be on his best behaviour, so w'e 
tolerate his presence.” 

“ Yes,” remarked Emilie, very philosophically, “ you generally 
find a black sheep like that in' every family.” 


ELINE VERE. 


43 


Eline smiled, and slo^vly closed her fan. 

The third act came to an end without her understanding much 
about the scena with Manoel, but the grand duo between Hermosa 
and Xaima afforded her a clue : it was the mutual recognition of 
mother and daughter after the air — 

“ Debout, enfants dTberie ! ” 

and the curtain fell amid thunders of applause, and the two actresses 
were called to the front, and each received her share of bouquets. 

“ Mr. de Woude, do tell me what the plot is really about ?” asked 
Eline, turning to Georges. “ Je n’y vois pas encore clair.” 

But Betsy proposed to go into the foyer ^ and so they rose and 
left their box. In the foyer ^ seated on a divan, Georges related to 
her the plot of the opera, to which Eline listened with more atten- 
tion than she cared to show. Now she knew why Xaima shuddered 
in Ben-Said’s presence, and she would have liked to see the auction 
of maidens in the first act, and the sale of Xaima as slave in the 
second. 

All at once they observed Vincent, who was coming up the 
steps of the foyer^ and approaching them free and unconcerned, 
as though he had seen his cousins but yesterday. 

“ Hallo, Vincent, have you dropped from the clouds again ? ” 
exclaimed Eline. 

“ Hallo, Eline ; hallo Betsy ! charmed to see you once more. 
Miss van Bergh and Woude, I think?” and he shook hands with 
them. 

“ I admire your memory ; I had forgotten you,” answered 
Emilie. 

Betsy introduced them : ‘‘Mr. de Woude van Bergh, Mr. Vere.” 

“ Very pleased. And how are you ? ” 

“A little astonished,” laughed Eline. “I dare say you are off 
again to-morrow, aren’t you ? To Constantinople, or St. Petersburg, 
or somewhere, I suppose.” 

He looked at her, with a smile in his pale blue eyes, like faded 
china, behind their pince-nez. His features were handsome and 
regular, rather too handsome for a man, with their finely-chiselled 
Grecian nose, the small mouth, about which there generally lurked 
somewhat between a sneer and an audacious smile, lightly shaded by 
the thin, fair moustache ; but the charm of the handsome face was 


44 


ELINE VERE. 


completely spoilt by the unhealthy yellowish tint, and the ex- 
pression of lassitude that was suffused over it. Of slender form 
and delicate proportions, he looked tasteful in his dark, plain 
clothes, whilst none could fail to note the smallness of his feet, 
and the finely-shaped hand, with its slender, white fingers, the 
hand of an artist, and which reminded Eline very much of her 
dead father. He sat down beside them, and in a languid voice 
told Eline that he had arrived at the Hague the previous day, on a 
business matter. His last employment had been at Malaga, in a wine 
business ; before that he had been engaged in an insurance office 
in Brussels ; previous to that he had for some time been a partner 
in a carpet manufactory in Smyrna, but the firm failed. Nothing 
would do. Now he was tired of all that rushing about; he had 
given proof enough of energy and perseverance, but fate was 
against him ; whatever his hands touched seemed to bring him 
ill-luck. He expected, however, to obtain a situation in a chemical 
manufactory in Java, but he must first have some more information. 
To-morrow morning he hoped to call on van Raat, whom he wanted 
to see. Upon this Betsy asked whether he was coming to coffee, 
as van Raat was never at home in the morning, only in the 
afternoon. He gladly accepted the invitation, and then commenced 
talking about the opera. 

“ Fabrice ? oh, that is the baritone, is it not ? Yes ; a nice voice, 
but an ugly, fat customer.” 

‘‘ Do you think so ? No ; I think he shows off very well on the 
stage,” observed Emilie. 

No, Miss de Woude, you don’t mean that.” 

Emilie abided by her opinion, and Eline laughed at their dis- 
agreement. The tinkling of the bell warned them that the fourth 
act was about to commence, and Vincent took his leave, although 
Georges politely offered him his seat in the box. 

‘‘No; thank you very much ; I don’t want to rob you of your 
place, I am comfortable enough in the stall. Au revoir. To-morrow 
then, eh ? Adieu, Betsy, Eline ; au plaisir. Miss de Woude ; good 
evening, Mr. de Woude.” 

He bowed, pressed Georges’ hand, and slowly went away, lightly 
swinging his bamboo walking-stick in his hands. 

“ A strange boy I ” said Eline, shaking her head. 

“ I am continually in fear that he will do something to scandalize 
US,” Betsy whispered into Emilie’s ears ; “ but up to now he has 


ELINE VERE. 45 

kept himself quiet enough. Besides, you see I want to be nice 
and friendly to him, so as not to make him an enemy. I am a 
little afraid of him, one never can tell what a fellow like that may 
do, you see.” 

I can’t say he is a prime favourite of mine,” said Emilie, and 
they rose to return to their seats. 

“ Come, Emmie, you only say so because he did not say any 
nice things about Fabrice,” Georges chimed in, in a teasing voice. 

Emilie shrugged her shoulders, and they passed into the 
vestibule. 

** Oh, there is no fifth act I I thought there were five acts,” said 
Eline, with some disappointment, to de Woude, who told her the 
end of the plot. 

The fourth, act commenced, and Eline felt much interested in 
the moonlit garden scene, in Manoel’s cavatina, in his duet with 
Xaima, and in the trio with Hermosa ; but her interest grew when 
the Moorish monarch appeared at the gates of his palace, and 
commanded his guard to seize Manoel, whilst, deaf to his en- 
treaties, he dragged Xaima away with him, in a sudden burst of 
passion. The last scene in the opera, where Ben-Said is 
murdered by the mother, who comes to her child’s rescue, affected 
her much more than she would have cared to confess. In his 
scenas with the two female characters, the new baritone played 
with an amount of fire and power which lent the melodrama a glow 
of poetic truth, and when, fatally wounded, he sank down on the 
steps of the pavilion, Eline fixed her glasses, and gazed at his 
dark face, with the black beard and drooping eyes. 

The curtain fell, but the four actors were re-called, and Eline 
saw him once more, bowing to the audience with a calm, 
indifferent expression, in strong contrast to the beaming smiles of 
the tenor, the contralto, and the soprano. 

The audience rose, the doors of the boxes opened. Georges 
assisted the ladies with their wraps, and they proceeded through 
the corridor, and down the steps, until they reached the glass 
doors, where they waited until their carriage was announced. 

“ I shouldn’t think that the Tribut is one of Gounod’s best 
operas; do you, Eline?” asked Emilie, when they were in their 
carriage. ** It is not to be compared with Faiist or Romeo and 
/ulietie” 


46 


ELINE VERE. 


“ I don’t think so either,” Eline answered cautiously, afraid to 
show how much she was affected ; “ but it is so difficult to judge 
music on hearing it for the first time. I thought some of the 
melodies very pretty. But then, you must bear in mind that we 
only saw half of it.” 

“ Yes ; it’s very nice just to go and see a couple of acts ; but to 
have to sit out a whole opera I think an awful bore, I must admit,” 
said Betsy yawning. 

And Georges hummed the refrain — 

“ Debout, enfants d’lberie.” 

The de Woudes were taken home first to the Noordeinde, and 
Betsy and Eline rode on, snugly ensconced in the satin cushions of 
the landau, to the Nassauplein. They spoke a little about Vincent, 
and then both were silent, and Eline let her mind wander musingly 
to the waltz in Mh'eille^ to her dispute with Betsy that morning, to 
the group of the Five Senses, to Madame van Raat and de Woude, 
to her pink dress, and Ben-Said. 


CHAPTER V. 

About a week after the tahleaux-vivants^ Lili Verstraeten was 
sitting in the small drawing-room, where the representation had 
taken place. The room had long since resumed its usual appear- 
ance, and in the grate burned a cheerful fire. Outdoors it 
was cold ; there was a bleak wind, and it threatened rain. 
Marie had gone shopping with Frdderique van Erlevoort, but Lili 
had preferred to stay at home, and so she settled herself cosily in a 
big, old-fashioned, tapestry-covered arm-chair. She had taken 
Victor Hugo’s Noire Dame de Paris with her, but she did not wish 
to force herself to read, if she did not care for it, and the book, in 
its red calf cover and with gilt edges, lay unopened in her lap. 
How nice it was to do nothing except dream the time away ! 
how stupid of Marie and Freddie to go out in such wretched 
weather ! What did she care about the weather ! let it pour and 
blow outdoors as much as it liked, indoors it was beautiful ; the 
clouds subdued the light, the low hanging curtains allowed it but 


ELINE VERE. 


47 


a modest access. Papa sat reading in the conservatory, where it 
was lightest ; she could just catch a glimpse of his dear gray head, 
and she noticed how quickly he turned the pages ; yes, he was 
really reading, not like her, who had taken her book just for a 
make-believe. She never felt ennui^ though she did nothing at all ; 
on the contrary, she enjoyed those musing thoughts, rose-leaves 
wafted along by gentle breezes; soap-bubbles, bright and airy, 
which she loved to watch, floating on high, and the rose-leaves 
blew away, the bubbles broke, but she wished neither her rose-leaf 
to be an ivy plant, clinging closely to her, nor her bubbles to be a 
captive balloon. Mamma was still up-stairs, ever active — ah ! she 
could not lighten mamma’s work ; she would do everything herself, 
though Marie occasionally helped a little. She inwardly hoped 
no visitors would come to disturb her in her dolce far jiienic. 
How jolly it was ! How nice to watch the flame curling and twist- 
ing round the live coal ! The grate was a miniature hell, the peat- 
blocks were rocks, and between them there were yawning precipices, 
all fire and glowing embers — it was like Dante ! The souls of the 
damned hovered about the brinks of the precipices, shuddering at 
the fiery mass .... And, smiling at the wildness of her own 
fantasy, she averted her eyes, somewhat dazed with staring into the 
fire. But a week ago, on that very spot yonder, they had posed 
before their applauding acquaintances. How different it all looked 
then ! The scenes, the lyres, the cross, and all the rest of the 
paraphernalia were stowed away in the lumber-room. The dresses 
were nicely folded up by Dien, and put away in boxes. But it had 
been a jolly time, what with the consultations beforehand with 
Paul and Etienne, the rehearsals, and so forth. How they had 
laughed ! what trouble they had taken for the sake of a few 
moments’ entertainment ! 

Papa still read on, turning page after page. How the rain beat 
against the window-panes ! how it rushed down the pipe ! Yes ; 
Freddie and Marie were out for their enjoyment .... how grand 
it was to be snug and safe from all the wet. And her feet 
sought the soft warmth of the hearth-rug; her fair head nestled 
deeper into the cushions of the old chair. 

Freddie was to go to a dance that evening. How could she stand 
it, going out night after night ! Yes ; she was very fond of it her- 
self — a nice dance, a sociable soiree ; but she liked staying at home 
too; to read, to work, or to— do nothing. But as for ennui, she 


48 


ELINE VERE. 


did not know what it was, and her life flowed on like a limpid 
rivulet. She was so entirely in love with her darling parents ; she 
only hoped things would ever remain as they were ; she would not 
mind being an old maid .... Quasimodo, Esmeralda, Phoebus 
de Chateaupers — oh, why had she not taken Longfellow with her? 
she did not care about the Cour des Miracles, but she longed for 
Evangeline or the Golden Legend — 

“ My life is little, 

, Only a cup of water, 

But pure and limpid ” 

How poetic she was getting ! she laughed at herself, and looked 
out into the garden, where the dripping bare branches were 
swaying to and fro in the wind. There was a ring at the bell, and 
light footsteps and laughter echoed through the hall. Freddie 
and Marie were returning home, they would go up-stairs she sup- 
posed; no — they were coming this way, and entered the room, 
their wet wraps removed, but bringing with them a rush of wind 
and a chill dampness. 

“ Well, I never I ” cried Marie ; my lady seated by the fire 
warming herself. That’s right ! ” 

“Would my lady like a pillow for her back?” asked Freddie 
teasingly. 

“Yes; you laugh as much as you like,” murmured Lili with a 
smile, and she nestled herself more snugly in the chair. “ I am 
warm and jolly here, and my feet are not cold and damp. You go 
and splash in the mud by yourselves ! ” 

Freddie went to speak to Mr. Verstraeten, and Marie thought she 
would like a refresher, and she set about making a cup of tea. So 
the girls sat down ; yes, Lili would like a cup of tea too, although 
she had not been out mud-splashing. 

“ How dark it is here, Lili ! how could you see to read ? Why, 
it’s enough to blind you, peering away in the dark like this ! ” cried 
Marie. 

“ But I have not been reading,” replied Lili, enjoying her dolce 
far niente, 

“ My lady has been musing,” mocked Freddie. 

“ Ah,” said Lili with a smile, “ it’s grand, doing nothing at all— just 
dreaming the time away.” 

And they all three burst out laughing at such a confession of 


ELINE VERE. 


49 


shameless laziness, when Madame Verstraeten came down, looking 
for her bunch of keys. 

Frdd^rique said she had to go soon; she was asked to a dance 
at the Eekhofs’ that evening, and there were one or two things she 
had to see to yet, and Madame Verstraeten thought Lili much more 
sensible than Freddie and Marie, who were foolish enough to go 
shopping in such weather. 

Again there was a ring at the bell. 

It was Paul, bringing with him such a marked odour of wind 
and damp, that he was sent out of the room again to wipe his feet 
better. 

“ There’s weather ! ” he sighed, as he sat down. 

Madame Verstraeten left the young people to themselves, and 
sat down beside her husband, who, however, on hearing that Paul 
had come, rose and walked to the back drawing-room. 

“ Morning, uncle.” 

“ Ah ! morning, Paul ; how are you — how is your mother ? ” 

Mother is very well. I left her reading a book that Eline had 
sent her.” 

“ And how is it — have you paid a visit to Hovel yet ?” 

“ No, uncle, not yet.” 

But do so then. Don’t delay too long about it ; Hovel wants 
to make your acquaintance.” 

Paul, it’s four days ago that you said you were going to Hovel,” 
cried Marie. “ How can you be thinking so long about it ? It isn’t 
such a great journey.” 

“ I intended to go to-morrow.” 

“Then go to-morrow, about half-past six. You are sure to find 
him at home then. I should advise you not to fail,” said Uncle 
Verstraeten, and in his usually so friendly dark brown eyes there 
gleamed something like annoyance, when he turned to go back to 
the conservatory. 

“ Paul, Paul,” said Fr^ddrique, shaking her head, “ how can you 
be so lazy ? You are even lazier than Lili.” 

“ Oh, to-morrow will be quite time enough,” grumbled Paul, as 
he finished drinking his cup of tea. 

“ Yes ; but you’re very lazy, all the same. And I tell you frankly 
that we don’t think it nice of you at all, any of us.” 

“ Go on, grandmother, give me a good sermon ; that’s right.” 


50 


ELINE VERE. 


“ Grandmother or no grandmother, that’s my opinion. And 
you see, I think it’s a great pity that you should be like that ; you 
could do a great deal more if you only had a little energy. Mark 
my words, now, if you don’t better yourself you will grow just like 
Henk — a dear good fellow, but good for nothing. You know 
very well that I am not altogether in love with Betsy, but I can 
quite understand that she must sometimes feel terribly bored with 
that brother of yours, doing nothing all day long.” 

“ Don’t you say anything against Henk now ; Henk is a thorough 
good fellow,” cried Marie. “ And besides,” Marie continued, you 
have much more ability than Henk; and that’s just why I think 
that laziness and want of energy are doubly inexcusable in you.” 

“ Come, Marie,” said Lili, rising, ‘Mon’t go firing away like that 
at Paul, poor boy! You go to Hovel to-morrow, do you hear?” 
she whispered in his ear ; then it will be all right.” 

He laughed, and promised to better himself under, the able 
guidance of the three of them. 

“ And as I have evidently been placed under the guardianship of 
my cousins and Miss Erlevoort,” said he good-humouredly, “may 
I ask if they’ll allow their little protegd another cup of tea ? ” 

The heavy rain had ceased, but the wind still shook the dripping 
branches. 

It was half-past five when the door-bell rang once more. 

“ Half-past five !” exclaimed Frederique. “ I must go ; I ought 
to have gone long ago ; I have some bows to fix on my dress. 
Oh ! I s/ia/l look bewitching to-night, all in de tullel Where 
are my parcels, Marie ?” 

“ There goes the bell ; I wonder if there are any visitors,” said Lili. 

Frdderique was about to go, when Dien came in to say that Mr. 
dc Woude van Bergh was there. 

“ What ! that unspeakable bore ! ” 

“ Oh, he’s not so bad,” said Paul 

“Well, I don’t care; I’m going to close the folding doors. I 
don’t wish to see him ! ” she continued, and she was just about to 
suit the action to the word. 

“ Come, Lili, don’t be so silly ; come this way,” said Marie. 

“ No, thanks ; you go by yourself,” she answered and closed the 
doors, just as de Woude entered the front drawing-room, where 
Marie received him. 


ELINE VERE. 51 

Paul and Frdderique laughed, and took leave of Lili, and all 
three passed through the dining-room to the hall. 

“ Good-bye ; give my regards to uncle and aunt, and tell uncle 
that I shall go to Hovel to-morrow for certain,” said Paul. 

“ Remember me to them also, and tell them I really had to go,” 
said Freddie. 

All right ; much pleasure to-night in your Jlot de iulle. Boo ! 
how cold it is here in this hall ! ” 

Paul and Freddie left, and Lili returned through the dining-room. 
And Georges de Woude, what had he come for? No ; she could 
not bear him at all. So affected and formal. How could Paul 
see anything in him ? Paul she thought ever so much nicer and 
manlier. And how Marie did lecture him! he was a good boy, 
too; and what if he were a little lazy — he had money, and 
might just as well enjoy himself a little now ; later he could look 
out for a situation, and he would soon find one, that was certain. 
Yes ; she would tell pa Paul had promised to go to Hovel to-morrow, 
and he always kept his word. 

She sat down once more in the old chair, and poked the fire. 
She warmed her fingers and rubbed her little hands, soft as satin. 
Through the closed doors she could hear the sound of voices, 
amongst which that of Georges prevailed — he seemed to be 
telling them a long story. She must have a look for one moment, 
and she rose and cautiously pushed one of the doors aside a little. 
Yes ; that would do ; pa and ma she could not see, but Marie she 
could just see in the face, and of Georges she got a back view. 
What fun it would be if Marie were to catch sight of her ; but no, 
she appeared to be all attention for that little fop. Lili could just 
admire his shining white collar, and the tails of his coat — superfinOj 
all of it I There — Marie looked up — there — she just caught sight 
of her through the crack in the door : “ Hallo 1 bon jour ; ” she 
shook her finger at Marie, then she curtseyed and made grimaces, 
until Marie had to compress her lips, so as not to burst out 
laughing. 

As it was getting dark, Frdderique hurried home to the Voorhout. 
On arriving, she rushed up the broad staircase. She nearly 
stumbled over Lientje and Nico, two children of Madame van 
Ryssel, her eldest sister, who since her divorce from her husband 
had been living with her four children at Madame van Erlevoort’s. 


52 


ELINE VERE. 


“ Miss Frantzen, do look after the children, they will fall ! ” said 
Fred^rique, out of breath, to the bo7tne^ whom she met on the first 
landing, searching high and low for the youngsters. 

“Do you know where Ernestine and Johan are?” asked Miss 
Frantzen. 

“No; I have only just come home,” answered Frederique, quite 
indignant, and she hurried further, flew into her room, threw off her 
cloak, and with nervous fingers proceeded to open one of the little 
parcels she had brought with her in her muff and her pockets. 

“ I shall never be ready ! ” she muttered, and she drew aside the 
green damask curtains from her bedstead, disclosing her ball dress, 
spread out on the bed — a diaphanous cloud of light-blue tulle. 

That morning Frederique’s dress had been sent home from the 
dressmaker, but she wanted to add a bow here and there herself, 
although she almost feared to touch it, lest she should tangle the 
filmy, web-like stuff. 

“ Oh, what shall I do ! ” she cried ; then a sudden thought 
seemed to strike her, and she rushed out of the room, and on the 
landing she cried — 

“Tilly, Tilly, Mathilde!” 

One of the doors opened, and her sister, Madame van Ryssel, 
entered in some alarm. 

“Freddie, what is the matter? why do you scream so? is the 
house on fire ? ” 

“ No ; if it were I shouldn’t call for your help. But do help me 
a bit, or I shall never be ready.” 

“ Help you ? what with ?” 

“With my ball-dress. I want to put on a bow or two. It’s so 
bare at the side, and I bought some ribbon.” 

Madame van Ryssel was about to reply, when the door of Ma- 
dame van Erlevoort’s room opened, and the old lady came out to ask 
what was the matter. At the same moment a shrill burst of laughter 
and a sound of children’s voices re-echoed from the landing, there 
was a loud tripping of little feet, and a girl of seven came half 
tumbling down the stairs, followed by a lad of six. 

“ Mamma, mamma ! ” the child cried, as she jumped down the 
last steps. 

“ I say. Tine, Johan, what a noise you are making ! What are 
you doing, you two?” asked Madame van Ryssel severely. 

“Jo is always teasing me ; Jo wants to tickle me, and he knows I 


ELINE VERE. $3 

can’t bear it,” panted the girl, and she hid herself behind her 
grandma’s petticoats, whilst Frdderique caught hold of Johan. 

“ I told you before that I won’t have all that running and noise 
in the house ! ” resumed Madame van Ryssel. “ I wish you would 
remember that grandma cannot bear it.” 

“Never mind,” said Madame van Erlevoort kindly, “they were 
only playing ; eh. Tine ? ” 

“Look out, do you hear, or I’ll tickle you!” cried Freddrique, 
and she tickled Johan under his little arms, so that he fell, struggling 
and crowing, on the floor. 

“ Mais comme vous les gdtez, toutes les deux I ne les choyez done 
pas, quand je suis fachde. Je perdrai tout mon pouvoir, si vous 
continuez ainsi I ” exclaimed Madame van Ryssel despairingly, as 
she glanced over the banisters, for down below Madeline and 
Nikolaas were giving Miss Frantzen a terrible trouble and would 
not go up-stairs with her. 

“Lientje, Nico!” cried Madame van Ryssel in her severest 
tones. 

“ Come, Matbilde, do leave the children alone for a moment, and 
come and look at my dress !” Freddie implored. 

“ I can’t keep them in order any longer, really,” said Mathilde, 
with a sigh of despair. 

“Make haste, Freddie; we dine rather earlier to-day,” said 
Madame van Erlevoort. 

The street door was being opened ; it was Otto and Etienne van 
Erlevoort who were coming home, and their cheerful voices mingled 
with the laughter and screams of the children, the chiding tones of 
Miss Frantzen, and the barking of Hector, Otto’s dog. 

“Come, Mathilde, do just have a look at my dress,” Freddie 
pleaded, in coaxing tones. 

Mathilde thought it best to give up all attempts at exerting her 
maternal influence in that Babel of confusion, and yielded to 
Frdderique’s coaxing. 

“ Really, I mean it, I have no more control over them ” 

** Come, children, don’t fight any more now ; be good ! ” said 
Madame van Erlevoort to Ernestine and Johan. ‘^Come with us 
down-stairs, ’tis enough to freeze you here.” 

Madame van Erlevoort had always been used to excitement and 
hubbub, and it never seemed to upset her. Herself mother of 
seven children, she had always been surrounded by noisy laughter. 


54 


ELINE VERE. 


turmoil and excitement, and she could not have understood how 
a large family could have existed in any atmosphere that was 
calmer than her own. From the first, her house had been filled 
with the shrill voices, the boisterous laughter, and the continual 
running to and fro of her children, until they grew up, in all the 
joyful freshness of their youthful spirits. Then with the death of 
her husband, Theodore Otto, Baron van Erlevoort ter Horze, 
member of the Second Chamber of the States General, com- 
menced a period of unwonted calm and peacefulness, which grew 
even more so when her four children, one after another, left her 
house and got married. The first to go was Theodore, the eldest, 
who now managed their estates in Gelderland, and who, in the 
midst of his numerous family, lived at the Huis ter Horze the life 
of a gentleman-farmer and of a youthful patriarch combined. 
He was followed by her third daughter, Mathilde, whose brief 
married life had been very unhappy ; after her, the two eldest girls, 
Catherine and Suzanne, left their mother’s homcj the former 
married to an English banker, Mr. Percy Howard, living in 
London, the other to Jonkheer Arnold van Stralenburg, Recorder 
at the Court of Justice at Zwolle. 

Thus Madame van Erlevoort was left with her two sons, Otto, 
assistant clerk at the Ministry of the Interior, Etienne, studying 
for the bar at Leiden, and her youngest child, Frederique ; and 
without the novel charm and refreshing emotions of her grand- 
mothership, the comparative calm by which she was surrounded 
would certainly have made her ill with ennidy used as she was to 
the tripping of light feet and the song and laughter of clear young 
voices. 

A few years after her marriage, Mathilde with four children 
returned to Madame van Erlevoort, the children being assigned to 
her on her divorce from her husband. Since then, van Ryssel 
had been living abroad, and little more was heard of him. 

Madame van Erlevoort sympathized deeply with her daughter, 
who had so long and with such dignity sustained her part of 
neglected and misjudged wife, and she received her with the 
greatest love, inwardly happy in the new, fresh-budding life which 
the four grandchildren had brought into her house. She spoilt 
them all, as she had never spoilt her own children. Try what she 
would to be cross with them, their wildest pranks failed to provoke 
her anger, whilst Mathilde they often drove to desperation, for 


ELINE VERE. 


55 

she feared what would become of them with so much indulgence. 
She begged Madame van Erlevoort not to oppose her when she 
meted out some well-deserved punishment ; Madame van Erlevoort 
promised readily enough, but as quickly forgot her promise on 
the first opportunity ; whilst Fred^rique, herself a spoilt child, 
always thought Mathilde right in her complaints, but for the rest 
did little to encourage a firm discipline. It was only from Otto 
that Mathilde could now and then expect a little support, and 
accordingly it was for Uncle Ot alone that the four young rascals 
had any respect. With his mother’s kindliness of disposition he 
combined his father’s common sense and practical nature, and in the 
unruffled calm of his demeanour he appeared older than he really 
was ; but over his manly features there lay such a charming 
geniality, there was so much that was sympathetic and trustful in 
his bright dark eyes, that his earnestness and his sound sense 
attracted rather than appeared too severe in a young man of 
eight-and-twenty. Etienne, on the other hand, was all gaiety and 
thoughtlessness, and his mother’s idol, in fact her nature seemed 
to bask in the glow and sunshine of his character. Frdd^rique 
loved both her brothers passionately, but Otto she was fond of 
nicknaming papa, whilst with Etienne she would romp about much 
as Lientje did with Nico, and Tina with Johan. 

Madame van Erlevoort wished to dine a little earlier that day, 
intending to have her siesta before going to dress. In the even- 
ing she was going with Freddie and her two sons to the ball at 
the Eekhofs’, whilst Madame van Ryssel stayed at home, a quiet, 
saddened young woman, whose smile but faintly lit up her wax-like 
face, and who lived but for her children. ) 

By Mathilde’s express desire, the four noisy customers always 
dined in a separate room, with Miss Frantzen. As for Madame 
van Erlevoort, there was nothing she would have liked better than 
to have sat at table with the whole batch of them. Miss Frantzen 
included, not caring one iota whether her damask table-cloths were 
swimming in gravy, her glass ware broken to bits, or the preserves 
mauled about by a set of greasy little fingers. Thus Mathilde 
had been unable to prevent the children, who dined earlier and 
whose meal was over sooner, from running in one after another 
into the dining-room, to the despair of Miss Frantzen, whose 
round face and terrified eyes would then appear at the half-open 

5 


56 ELINE VERE. 

door. This sort of thing Madame van Erlevoort in her kindli- 
ness having tolerated once or twice, soon became the rule, and 
Mathilde was obliged with a sigh to resign herself to the inevit- 
able. As for Etienne and Frdd^rique, they only helped to make 
the youngsters noisier than ever. Otto also played with them, 
and Mathilde with a smile shrugged her shoulders j she could 
not help it, let things go as they would. 

“No, thank you, Otto, nothing more,” said Fr^d^rique, at the 
dinner-table. I can never eat when I am going to a ball ; you 
know that.” 

“Is it still like that?” asked Ctto. “I always thought that it 
was only very young girls who could not eat at their first entree 
into society. Are you still so nervous ? Poor girl ! ” 

“ Freddie, what have you been doing to your dress ? I hope you 
have not spoilt anything?” asked Madame van Erlevoort, with 
some anxiety. 

“No, ma ; I took Mathilde’s advice and did not touch it at all. 
Ah ! you shall see me this evening,” she continued to Otto ; “ I 
shall look quite ethereal in my blue tulle — just fit to be blown 
away, you know. Hallo ! there they come, the young Vandals ! ” 

This was meant for the four little van Ryssels, who now came 
storming into the room, Nico with an ear-splitting trumpet in his 
mouth. They came to eat their orange with wine and sugar. 
Madame van Erlevoort took Nico next to her and gave him his 
plate full of fruit, and ere long the young rascal was sucking away 
at the luscious morsels, varying the repast with an occasional blare 
from his trumpet. 

Ernestine, Johan, and Etienne were picking their hardest from 
one dish, and amid loud laughter their forks got jangled one in 
another, whilst Freddie told Otto who were coming to the Eekhofs* 
that evening. 

“ There are the Hydrechts, Eline Vere, the van Larens, Fran- 
5 oise Oudendyk. Don’t you think Fran 9 oise prettier than Marguerite 
van Laren ? Eh, Ctto, which of the two are you going to mash? 
Ch, Nico ! my nerves ! Nico ! ” 

Tootterootoo, too, went the trumpet. 

Nico, you will drive me crazy with that blaring noise. Put 
that thing down now, and eat properly. There, it’s all running 
down your jacket !” cried Mathilde. 

‘^Oh, he is only making a little music ; eh, little dot ?” said Madame 


ELINE VERE. 


57 


van Erlevoort, and she drew her arm round the child, who, without 
much respect for his grandma, blew his trumpet right into her ear. 

After dinner Freddie and Etienne romped about with the children, 
whilst Madame van Erlevoort retired to her boudoir, and Otto sat 
down to smoke his cigar beside Mathilde, who took up some 
embroidery. Rika, the servant, cleared the table, much hampered 
in the process by N ico, and in fear and trembling for the safety of 
the tray upon which she had placed the dirty plates and glasses. 
At last the clock struck eight, and Miss Frantzen came to fetch 
the children. 

“ Ciel de mon ame !” cried Frederique, half smothered on the 
sofa between Ernestine, Johan, and Lientje, and with an effort 
she extricated herself from the labyrinth of arms and legs that 
twined itself about her like an octopus. “ I must get up-stairs ; 
Mathilde, will you help me ? " 

“ Yes ; I am coming,” answered Mathilde, rising. “ And you, 
children, you be off to bed, quick ! 

“No, I won’t ; I want to see Aunt F reddie look pretty first,” 
cried Ernestine, in a little whining voice. “ And I want to help 
auntie, too.” 

“Auntie can do without your help, and pretty she always is. 
Come now, go up-stairs, all of you, with Miss Frantzen ; allons, like 
good children.” 

Freddie ran off, and as Madame van Erlevoort was asleep, 
Mathilde could for once exert her influence, and the four of them 
were bundled off up the stairs, with an admonition on each step, 
as Nico wanted to run down again, and Lientje remained sitting 
on the floor, playing with Hector. 

“ I am coming directly, Freddie I ” cried Mathilde ; “as soon as 
the children are up-stairs.” 

Freddie was already in her room, brushing out the wavy masses 
of her hair. Mathilde was to dress it : she did it so deftly. And 
she set about arranging everything— her fan, her gloves, her hand- 
kerchief, her pale-blue satin shoes. A nervous blush suffused 
her clear pale face, as she looked at herself in the mirror and 
smiled, until in each cheek there formed a little dimple. “ Yes ; it 
would be all right,” she said. In half an hour Mathilde came back 
with Martha, the chamber-maid, and Frederique sat down in front 
of the glass, in her white under-bodice and blue shoes. 


58 


ELINE VERE. 


“Just as simple and fetching as last time you did it, Tilly,'* 
coaxed Fr^ddrique, as Martha handed her the comb, the curling- 
tongs, or a hairpin, as they were wanted. “ Oh ! it's quite cold 
here ! Do wrap something round my shoulders, Martha ! ” 

Martha wrapt a fur cape about her. With deft fingers, Mathilde 
had soon completed her task. 

“ There ! " said she, and arranged the frizzy fringe in front. 
“ Simple, tasteful, and fetching — are you satisfied ? ” 

Frederique looked at herself, and with the tips of her fingers she 
just touched her hair. 

“ Rather ! ” she said. “ And now — my de tulle.'' 

The fur cape was thrown on the floor, and Martha arranged the 
confused mass of garments which were spread about the room. 
Mathilde lifted up the cloud of delicate azure, and light as a sigh 
she let it glide about Freddie's shoulders. 

_ “There's something fairy, something naiad-like about me ! ” said 
Freddie, raising her arms, and Tilly and Martha knelt down and 

drew open the folds of silky gauze. La, la, la ” and Freddie's 

little feet kept time to the tune she hummed. 

“Freddie, Freddie, do be quiet now! Martha, a pin; here, 
that bow is undone.” 

“ How do I look, Martha?” 

“ Sweetly pretty, miss.” 

“ Doesn't it look bare at the side, Tilly ? ” 

“ Oh, dear, no ; 'tis all bows and ribbons. Come, Freddie, do 
sit still a moment, now.” 

All at once the door opened slowly, with a creaking sound. 

“ What now ? ” cried Mathilde impatiently, and her anger rose 
'when she caught sight of Ernestine, shivering in her white night- 
gown, making her appearance behind the door, a little frightened, 
but with an elf-like impudence. 

“ Oh, ma, I want so much ” 

“ But, Tine, 'tis enough to get your death of cold, running about 
like that ! I don't know how you can be so disobedient.” 

“ Get into my bed. Tine, quick ; but mind my bodice ! ” cried 
Freddie. “ Never mind, Tilly, let her alone,” she whispered. 

Tine crept into the bed, and nestled herself like a dove 
in the blankets, and her little fingers passed over the blue 
satin of Frdd^rique's corsage, which was lying on the pillow. 

Mathilde shrugged her shoulders with a sigh, resigned as usual, 


ELINE VERE. 59 

but the bodice she took away. Madame van Erlevoort appeared 
in the open door, rustling in silk moire. 

“ Oh, how nice mamma is looking ! ” cried Fr^ddrique excitedly; 
“ you will see, Tilly, I shall be the last again to be ready. Make 
haste a bit, do ! ” 

Mathilde laced in the satin bodice, and Madame van Erlevoort 
smiled in admiration at her airy Undine. But what was that 
shuffling sound behind her ? Looking round, she caught sight of 
Johan and Lientje, both numbed with cold, and in their night- 
gowns. 

“No; this is really too bad. ’Tis enough to drive one mad,” 
cried Mathilde, and she left Freddrique standing . with her bodice 
half-laced, and rushed away to the young rascals. “ How can you 
be so naughty, all of you, and worry ma so ! To-morrow you will 
all be ill. Come, up-stairs at once ! ” 

She spoke with much annoyance, and the children half began to 
cry ; but Madame van Erlevoort came to the rescue. 

“ Never mind, Mathilde, let them stop a little while.” 

‘^In my bed — get in, quick 1 ” cried Freddrique, laughing her 
hardest; “but don’t you touch my tulle; hands off there !” and 
she drew back in fear from the outstretched hands of the little 
Vandals, who were burning to tumble the filmy gauze, and pull at 
the long bows. 

Mathilde could see well enough for herself that Freddie’s bed was 
the best place for the children, and so for the thousandth time 
she gave in, as with a sigh she set about lacing up Freddie’s corsage. 
Johan and Lientje quickly crawled alongside Tine under the quilt, 
and with eyes asparkle with life and fun, they all three sat staring 
at the blue fairy. 

“ Are you going to put something over all this, auntie ? ” asked 
Johan, “or will you keep as you are, naked like that 

“ Go on, you stupid boy ! ” cried Tine indignantly, and she gave 
him a push, so that he tumbled over Lientje, and in a few moments 
Frederique’s bed was a chaos of woollen blankets, fair curls, pillows, 
and bare pink legs and arms, all tumbling and wriggling about to 
the accompaniment of loud screams and yells. 

Madame van Erlevoort and Frdderique nearly cried with laughing 
at the scene, to the great confusion of Mathilde, who, do what she 
would, could not manage to get the laces tied, and Madame van 
Erlevoort called Otto and Etienne, who in evening dress and over- 


6o 


ELINE VERE. 


coats were coming down-stairs, to go in and have a look at the 
scene. 

Get in here with us, Uncle Eetje ; come along, do ! ” screamed 
Johan ; but Etienne declined the honour ; he was much too pretty 
now to romp about like that. 

“ You look like a fairy queen, Freddie ! ” said Otto smiling; ^^fit 
to 

“ To be blown away, eh? But, Tilly, aren’t you finished yet with 
those laces ? ” 

“Well, Freddie, you Avon’t stand still for one minute.” 

At last Tilly was ready, every one was ready, and Madame van 
Erlevoort went down-stairs, as the carriage had just arrived. 

“Now, children, stop in bed, and don’t run about in the cold,” 
cried Mathilde commandingly, while Fr^ddrique, with Martha’s 
help, wrapped her sortie about her, Otto took charge of a fan, and 
Etienne of a glove. 

“ Come, Freddie, mamma has gone down-stairs long ago,” said 
Otto, and he beat the fan impatiently on his hand. 

“ Freddie, haven’t you forgotten anything?” asked Mathilde. 

“ I say, where is your other glove, Freddie, or are you only going 
to wear one ? ” cried Etienne as loud as he could, to make himself 
heard above the noise and the din the children were making in the 
bed. 

“ Oh ! how you are worrying me, all of you ! — I have a’ready 
got it half on, my second glove ! Martha, my handkerchief ! 
Thanks ; everything right ? Yes? Well, good-bye, you pets I” 

“Freddie, you have forgotten something ! ” cried Etienne. 

“ What is it, then ? ” 

“ Your umbrella, here.” 

“ Silly boy ! Mamma is waiting in the carriage, and you delay 
me with stupidities ! Well, good-bye, Tilly ! good-bye, dearies ! 
yes, Otto, I am coming .... Good-bye, Tilly, thanks for your 
assistance. Good-bye, Martha ! ” 

“ Much pleasure, miss.” 

“ Much pleasure, Freddie.” 

Freddie went, followed by Otto and Etienne. Ernestine sprang 
out of the bed, followed by Johan and Lientje. 

“ Here, children, come here ! ” cried Mathilde. 

She threw some wraps about them, shawls, blankets, whatever 
she could find. 


ELINE VERE. 6l 

“And where is Miss Frantzen, that you have all come in here 
like this ? ” she asked, dissatisfied. 

“ In her own room, with Nico, ma’; Nico is asleep,” said Tine. 
“ Come, ma, don’t be angry,” and she raised her little arms fondly 
up to her mother. 

Mathilde smiled, and allowed herself to be embraced. 

“Come away now, all of you, to bed,” she said, somewhat 
conciliated. 

“There’s a state Miss FrMerique’s bed is in,” said Martha, 
shaking her head ; “ I can just go and make it all over again, 
naughty rascals ! ” 

“ Good rascals ! ” cried Lientje. 

Mathilde took her up in her arms, and Tine and Johan followed, 
stumbling as they went over their strange garments, and screaming 
with laughter at the success of their ruse. 

“ Hush ! hush ! or you will wake Nico ! ” 

Miss Frantzen knew nothing about it ; she was sitting near Nice’s 
bedside, with Hector at her feet, and engaged in knitting, and was 
not a little upset when she saw the caravan approaching. Those 
naughty children, to slip away slily like that ; she was under the 
firm impression that they were all nicely asleep in the next room ! 

The two were put to bed, shivering and numbed, but mad with 
fun, and Miss Frantzen requested them not to talk anymore, but to 
go to sleep. 

And Mathilde bent down over the cot of her Nico, lying there 
with closed eyes in the blankets, the moist lips half open, and the 
little fair curls straggling over the pillow. Pet of a boy he was ! . . . , 
And the rest too, real darlings, terrible worries to be sure they were, 
and quite uncontrollable, especially with such helpers as mamma 
and Freddie. But still, how happy she was that she had them, the 
four of them. 

And she bent down and just touched Nico’s little lips and felt 
his soft, warm breath on her cheek like a caress, and her tears 
fell on his forehead, so transparent and white, so soft .... the 
darling boy. , . • 


ELINE VERE. 


'62 


CHAPTER VI. 

Now and then old Madame van Raat came to drink a cup of 
tea at her son’s, in the Nassauplein ; she was brought there in 
her brougham about half-past six, and was taken home about half- 
past nine. 

This time Betsy was still up-stairs, probably with Ben, as Eline 
assured the old lady, although she knew that Anna the nurse usually 
put the child to bed. 

She took Madame van Raat into the boudoir, where the soft light 
of wax candles fell from a small crystal chandelier on the violet 
plush of the chairs and couches, and was reflected through the 
many-coloured glass drops in the mirror opposite. 

And Henk ? ” asked the old lady. 

“ Oh, he is still dozing,” laughed Eline. Stay, I’ll just go and 
call him.” 

“ No, no ; let him be, poor boy ! ” said Madame van Raat. “ Let 
him sleep, and have a little chat with me, child.” 

She took her place on the sofa and looked smilingly at Eline, who 
sat down on a low settee by her side. Eline took the old lady’s 
thin, dry hand in hers. 

‘^And how are you? All right? You are looking like a young 
girl to-day ; so smooth I don’t see a single furrow on your forehead.” 

Madame van Raat allowed herself, as usual, to be fascinated by 
that caressing voice, that sunny smile, and sympathetic expression. 

‘‘You naughty girl! to make fun of my old age! Elly, you 
ought to be ashamed of yourself ! ” and she threw her arms round 
Eline’s neck and kissed her forehead. “ And how is it with Betsy ? 
is she not very troublesome ? ” she whispered. 

“ Oh— really, Betsy isn’t so bad; she is only a little — a little 
hasty, just in her way of speaking, you know. All the Veres have 
hasty tempers, I as well ; only papa I never remember to have seen 
in a temper ; but then papa was a man without his equal. Betsy 
and I get along splendidly. Of course you can’t help a litils 
bickering now and then, if you are always together like that ; I think 
if I even lived with you that could not be helped.” 

“ Well, I wish you would come and try it.” 

“ Come, I should be much too troublesome to you. Now you 


ELINE VERE. 63 

think me very nice, because you don’t see me very often ; but if 
you were to see me every day ” and she l*ughed lightly. 

“ Did you ever see such a girl ? Just as if I had a temper ! ” 

“ Oh no, I didn’t mean that ; but really, an fondy Betsy is an affec- 
tionate girl, and I assure you Henk has a charming wife in her.” 

“ Maybe ; but — but if I had had the choice, I think I know whom 
I should have chosen for my son’s wife, Betsy, or — somebody else.” 
She laid her hand on Eline’s head and gave the girl a look full of 
meaning, a faint, sad smile about the pinched mouth. 

Eline felt a little frightened. Madame van Raat’s words called 
to mind her own old thoughts ; thoughts long passed and nearly 
forgotten, in which she had felt that sudden longing for Henk, the 
vague desire to lean on him for support. Ah, those thoughts ! 
they seemed so far off and hazy, as though they were but mere 
ghosts and shadows of thoughts. They had lost all charm, they 
even assumed something grotesque, that all but made her smile. 

Oh, my dear madam,” she murmured, with her rippling laugh, 
** who knows how unhappy he would have been then, whilst now — 
he is a little under the slipper, ’tis true, but Betsy has rather small 
feet.” 

Hush — hush ! ” whispered Madame van Raat, “there’s someone 
coming.” 

It was Henk, who opened the door of the boudoir, and was sur- 
prised to find it so late. Eline laughed at him, and asked him if 
he had had sweet dreams. 

“ You eat too much, that’s it that makes you so lazy in the evening. 
You should see what a lot he eats ! ” 

“There, mother, do you hear how your son is talked to in his 
own house, even by his little sis-in-law ? Oh, you don’t know what 
a troublesome child it is ! ” 

“You had better not say any more about that; your ma won’t 
hear anything against me, not even from her beloved Henk — 
eh ? Just you dare to say that I am wrong ! ” 

She looked at the old lady with so much childlike freshness in 
her bright eyes, and in her bearing, and such a warm glow of 
sympathy seemed all at once to emanate from her whole being, 
that Madame van Raat could no longer restrain herself from 
embracing her. 

“ You are a dear,” she said, happy in the genial warmth of the 
affection of old age for the bright sun of youth. 


64 ELINE VERE. 

Betsy, when she came down, apologized for having been detained 
so long, and asked if mamma would not rather drink tea in the 
drawing-room — there was more room there. 

“Paul was coming too, later on,” said Madame van Raat, as 
Eline placed a marble footstool under her feet. Then you must 
have a little music together, Elly, will you ? ” 

“Yes — with pleasure.” 

Madame van Raat brought out her glasses and her crochet-work, 
while Betsy sat down in front of the tea-tray, glittering with silver 
and china. She talked about all the doings of the day ; of the ball 
at the Eekhofs’ the other night, which she had enjoyed very 
much. 

“ And you as well, Elly ? ” asked the old lady. 

“ Yes, first-rate. I had a splendid dance, and the cotillon was 
very, very jolly.’^ 

“And you, Henk?” 

“ Oh, Henk!” 

Betsy and Eline both laughed. Eline exclaimed that he was much 
too stout to dance ; a minuet he might perhaps do very nicely, and of 
course she was aware that was coming into fashion again. Madame 
van Raat joined in the laughter,' and Henk, quite unconcerned, sat 
drinking his tea, when there was a ring at the bell, and Paul 
entered. 

, He told them that he had just come from the Prince-gracht, 
from Hovel’s ; he wanted to call on him last night, but he had 
met Vincent Vere in the Hoogstraat, and so he had postponed 
his visit to go and drink a glass of wine in Vincent’s lodgings, with 
a few acquaintances. Hovel he thought a very nice man indeed, 
and he had arranged to begin his work at his office the following 
Monday. 

Madame van Raat involuntarily heaved a sigh of gratitude that 
the long-talked-about visit had at last been paid. The last time 
she had seen her brother-in-law, Verstraeten, she thought she could 
detect something like annoyance when he spoke of Paul, and in 
matters relating to her youngest son she depended a good deal on 
the aid of Verstraeten, who had been Paul’s guardian during 
his minority. 

As she heard Paul speaking, Betsy felt as though there was some- 
thing very incongruous about the way Henk “ fooled ” away his time 
with his horse and his dogs. But what was she to do ? she had 


ELINE VERE. 


65 

spoken to him so repeatedly, and certainly the present moment, 
with Madame van Raat there, was hardly the time to mention it. 

“ Come, Paul,” Eline cried, all at once, shall we sing some' 
thing ? ” 

Paul expressed his readiness ; he rose ; Eline sat down at the 
piano. Every Thursday they practised duos together, and she 
already prided herself on her repertoire. Paul had never had a 
lesson, and hardly knew how to play ; but Eline gave him a hint 
now and then, which he followed faithfully, and she asserted that 
whatever he might be able to do with his voice, he owed to her. 
He opened his mouth properly and kept his tongue down, but 
really he ought to take some lessons of Roberts. A fellow couldn’t 
be expected to sing without some study. 

What shall we have ? Une Nuit d Venise ? ” 

“ Right you are, Une Ntiit d Venise.” 

She opened a music portfolio, bound in red leather, with “ Eline 
Vere” in golden letters on the cover. 

“ But don’t bring out your high sol so loud here,” said she. 
‘‘ Take it in your medium register, and not from the chest. It will 
sound much sweeter. And begin very softly, swelling here and 
there ; and keep in good time with me towards the end — the refrain, 
you know. Now, nicely, Paul.” 

She played the prelude to Lucantoni’s duet, whilst Paul gave a 
little cough to clear his voice, and both commenced together, very 
softly — 

“ Ah viens la nuit est belle I 
Viens, le del est d’azur 1 ” 

His light tenor sounded a little shaky, but still it went very well 
with the resonant ring of her pure soprano. It was a pleasure to 
her to sing together like that, when Paul was in voice, and would 
listen to advice. It seemed to her as though she sang with more 
feeling when another voice accompanied hers, and that she felt 
more, especially in the repetition of such a phrase as — 

** Laisse moi dans tes yeux, 

Voir le reflet des deux ! " 

words into which she infused something of the glow and languor 
of an Italian’s love. To her mind the duet assumed a more dramatic 
form. In her imagination she saw herself, with Paul as tenor, 


66 


ELINE VERE. 


gliding along in the radiant moonbeams in a gondola on a Venetian 
canal To her mind’s eye she saw herself in the rich dress of a 
young patrician, Paul in the garb of a poor fisherman, and they 
loved each other, and half-dreaming, half-singing, they went gliding 
along the water — 

** Devant DIeu meme 
Dire ; Je t’aime 
Dans un dernier soupir.” 

There was the refrain ! She feared — ah, she feared that Paul 
would break down. No ; Paul kept time with her. That was 
splendid ! and their voices died away in unison — 

** Dans un dernier soupir.’* 

“ Lovely, lovely, Eline ! ” cried Madame van Raat, who had been 
listening attentively. 

“You are in good voice,” said Betsy. 

“Now you must sing by yourself, Eline,” cried Paul, pleased 
with his success. 

While the duet was being sung, Mina had come in with the 
papers, the Vaderland and the Dagblady and Henk was soon 
absorbed in them, turning over the sheets as noiselessly as possible. 

“ But, Paul, don’t you want to sing any more ? ” asked Eline. 
^ Something else ; or are you tired 1 ” 

“ I had rather you sang alone, Eline.” 

“ Oh no, if you aren’t tired, I should like another duet. Really, 
I think it’s splendid to sing together like that Would you venture 
the grand duo in Romeo 

“ Really, Eline, I don’t know it very well yet, and it is so difficult.” 

“ Oh, you knew it well enough the other day ; if only you will 
sing soft and low, and not force your notes. There — you see, the 
whole of this passage with your medium register ; don’t shout, what- 
ever you do.” 

With an anxious look he asked her for a little more advice .about 
the piece, and she told him what to do. 

“ Come now, will you venture ? But don’t shout ; that’s frightful, 
and — if we do break down, what of it ? ” 

“ Well, if you like to try, I don’t mind.’’ 

Eline’s face glowed with pleasure, and she played the soft prelude 
to the grand duo in the fourth act. 


ELINE VERE, 


67 


“ Va I je t’ai pardonne, Tybalt voulait ta mort ! ” 

she sang, with splendid delivery, and Paul answered with his reci- 
tative ; then together they warbled — 

“ Nuit d’hymenee, o, douce nuit d’amour ! ” 

Once more the dramatic form of the duo rose before her ; Juliette’s 
departure ; Romeo, in his brilliant dress, lying on the cushions at 
her feet. And it was no longer Paul, but Fabrice, the new baritone, 
'who was the Romeo, and she let her head rest on his shoulder — 

“ Sous tes baisers de flamme 
Le ciel rayonne en moi I ” 

Paul’s voice was growing very shaky and uncertain, but Eline 
scarcely heard it. To her imagination it was Fabrice, with his deep 
voice, who sang; and her song sounded full and ringing, quite 
forgetful as she was that she entirely eclipsed the tenor. 

There — there was the warbling of the lark at daybreak, as in 
alarm she asked — 

“ Qu’as tu done — Romeo ?” 

Ecoute, o Juliette ! ” 

replied Paul in firmer tones, after his rest. 

But to her it was not the voice of the lark, but the soft tones of 
the nightingale ; not the first rays of the morning sun, but the 
silvery gleam of moonlight, and still it was Fabrice, and still the 
orchestra resounded in the chords she struck on her piano, as, 
without speaking, they sank in each other’s arms. At times, in the 
brief intervals, the stern reality dispelled Eline’s vision, and no 
longer was it the stage and Fabrice she beheld, but Paul, turning 
the pages. But again she revelled in the luxury of her fancies ; 
Juliette saw the danger of Romeo’s prolonged stay, she urged him 
to go, and he answered — 

“ Ah ! reste encore, reste dans mes bras enlaces ! 

Un jour il sera doux, a notre amour fidMe ! 

De se ressouvenir de ces douleurs passes ! ” 

This was a passage in which Paul’s lyrical weakness appeared 
most; and Eline, awakening out of her reverie, heard smilingly 
with what melancholy he repeated it. She felt ashamed at having 
eclipsed him in her ecstasy ; she would be more careful. 

And she sang the finale less with overpowering despair than with 


68 


ELINE VERE. 


soft languor, so that Paul’s high chest-notes made better effect than 
at first; but the vision was gone, the stage, the audience, Fabrice, 
all had vanished. 

“ Adieu, ma Juliette ! ” 

sang Paul; and she answered, with a light cry, in which ho 
joined — 

“ Toujours k toi 1 ” 

“ Oh, how grand to sing like that ! ” cried Eline in ecstasy, and 
she rushed to Madame van Raat, and embraced her with sudden 
impetuosity. Doesn’t Paul sing nicely, eh ? Isn’t it a shame that 
he will take no lessons ? You ought to make him.” 

But Paul declared that Eline gave him lessons enough, and that 
she would be the death of him with her difficult duos ;" but Eline 
again assured him that he had acquitted himself splendidly. 

Betsy gave a sigh of relief after the stormy parting of the 
Veronese lovers, which under the low ceiling and plush draperies 
of her drawing-room had sounded much too heavy and loud in her 
ears. To her thinking it was a terrible hullabaloo ! Why didn’t 
Eline rather sing something light and jolly from one or another 
opdra bouffe ? 

Eline and Paul having sat down, the conversation grew more 
general about the on dits of the day, the busy stir in the streets be- 
fore St. Nicholas’, until it struck half-past nine, when Mina came 
to say that the carriage was there. 

“ ’Tis time for me,” said Madame van Raat, slowly rising from 
her seat ; and Eline ran away, humming as she went, to fetch her 
things from the boudoir, a fur circular, a woollen shawl, a cape. 
She let herself be snugly muffled up by her young favourite, and 
carefully placed her glasses and the crochet- work in her reticule. 
Then she kissed them all, bending over them with the slow move- 
ments of tired old age, and Henk and Paul assisted her into the 
soft satin cushions of the brougham. 

The carriage rolled away ; and in Madame van Raat’s ears there 
still resounded the echo of singing voices ; she smiled sadly as 
she wiped the vapour from the window to look outside where the 
snow was lying, dirty and bespattered in the light of the street 
lanterns, and thought of the time when she used to go to the 
opera with her husband. 


ELINE VERE. 


69 

Paul stayed a little longer ; and then, after a good glass of wine 
after his duos, he hurried off. When he had gone Eline went up- 
stairs to put the room in order a little, as she told Betsy. It was 
chilly in Eline’s sitting-room, but the cool air was refreshing to 
her cheeks and hands, heated by the faint atmosphere of the draw- 
ing-room. She threw herself on the Persian cushions, raised her 
hand, and stroked the leaves of the azalea. And she smiled, whilst 
her eyes grew large in a dreamy stare as her thoughts flew back 
once more to Fabrice with his beard and his splendid voice. What 
a pity that Betsy did not care more for the opera ! They went but 
very rarely, and yet she was so passionately fond of it. Yes ; she 
would give Madame Verstraeten to understand, in a genteel way 
of course, that she would not mind being invited now and then to 
accompany her ; Mr. Verstraeten never went himself, and Madame 
generally invited some one or another to a place in her box, some- 
times Freddie, sometimes Paul — why not her.^ 

All at once she jumped up as a thought suddenly struck her ; 
last night Fabrice had appeared in William Tell. She ran out of 
her room and leant over the banisters of the stairs. 

“ Mina, Mina ! ” she cried. 

“ Yes, miss,’’ answered Mina, who was just passing along the hall 
with a tray full of wine-glasses. 

“Just bring me the papers, if master and mistress have read 
them, will you ? ” 

“ Yes, miss.” 

She went back and threw herself on the sofa again. And she 
laughed at herself as she felt her heart beating with suspense. The 
idea ! what could it matter to her, after all .? There was Mina, 
coming up the stairs. She brought the Vaderland and the Dagblad. 

“If you please, miss.” 

“ Thank you, Mina,” said Eline indifferently, and languidly she 
took the papers. 

But scarcely had the servant closed the door behind her when 
she opened the Vaderland^ and with sparkling eyes began to look 
for the art and literature column. Then she read : 

“the french opera. 

“ After his performances in Hamlet and Le Tribut de Zamoray 
no one could doubt that Mr. Theo Fabrice would find favour in the 
eyes of the subscribers to the French Opera, and we cannot but 


70 


ELINE VERE. 


wonder that there were even three votes recorded against the 
brilliant baritone. Again, in William 7>//, Mr. Fabrice gave ample 
proof of his fitness to fulfil the post of baritone at the Grand Opera 
here, and we sincerely rejoice in his appointment. With a power- 
ful and well-cultivated organ, the artist couples great histrionic 
ability. In the duo with Arnold (Act I.) and in the grand trio, in 
the scena with Jemmy, Fabrice gave striking evidence of a per- 
fection rarely to be met with on our stage.” 

And Eline smiled and nodded approvingly. It was true enough 
< — and she read the article to the end, rejoicing in his success ; and 
then she turned to see what the Dagblad said about him. 


CHAPTER VII. 

The Ferelyns occupied the upper part of a small house over a 
grocer’s shop in the Hugo de Grootstraat. There they lived in a 
cramped, depressing atmosphere of economy ; Frans had had but 
little left him by his parents, and he was therefore compelled with 
his wife to live on small salary while on furlough. They settled in 
the Hague, the city in which both of them had lived since their 
childhood, where they had first met one another, where they had 
expected still to find their former friends and their old associations, 
although Frans had expressed the opinion that they would do 
better to make their stay in a smaller town. But Jeanne’s father, 
Mr. van Tholen, was also living in the Hague on his pension, 
leading a solitary life, little visited by his friends, and gradually 
forsaken by his children, as they married or went into situations. 
It was therefor that Jeanne persuaded her husband, notwithstand- 
ing their slender purse, to stay in the Hague. She would be 
economical, she promised, and she kept her word, although by 
nature she was not much inclined that way. 

So they remained in the Hague, in spite of many disappoint- 
ments. In the four years that they had not seen each other, Jeanne 
found her father much aged, more discontented and irritable than 
she had known him before. The days of yore were past and gone, 


ELINE VERE. 


71 


t’lougbt she : her happy youth in the old, sunny home, with her 
mother and her brothers and sisters; her innocent pranks with 
school-mates ; her girlish dreams under the lilac and jasmine in 
their garden ; her engagement days, full of ideal fantasies, with 
Frans. The souvenirs which she had hoped to find in Holland 
were scattered far and wide like shrivelled leaves, and much as 
she had longed in the burning Indies for the damp and fog of her 
fatherland, she now, bowed down under her disappointments and 
under her forced economy, looked forward to a return to that 
matter-of-fact, easy-going life she had enjoyed in the Kadoe with 
her cow, her fowls, and her goat. And yet, plucky in spite of the 
thousand and one little troubles that beset her daily life, she 
struggled on. Doctor Reyer visited her Dora every other day ; but 
she fancied she saw a nervous haste in the popular young physician 
which made him count every minute of his visit. He stayed a 
moment, laid his ear on Dora’s little chest, assured her that her 
cough was going, impressed upon Jeanne not to allow the child 
to leave the house, and left in his brougham, whilst he made 
a note in his pocket-book with his gold-cased pencil, and glanced 
through the list of his patients. Frans, with his severe headaches 
and his low fever, he had referred to a physician in Utrecht, to whom 
he had minutely described the patient’s case ; and Frans had gone 
to Utrecht and returned, much dissatisfied at the vague way in 
which the physician had spoken to him. Whenever Doctor Reyer 
came to visit Dora, Frans went out, feeling annoyed with him and 
his Utrecht physician, who between them had been unable to cure 
him; and he buried his headaches and his continued cold shiver- 
ings in a gruff solitude within the four walls of his little private 
office on the first floor. Something like a twinge of conscience 
came over him when he heard Jeanne up-stairs talking to the 
doctor; and Dora, in her peevish little way, was crying in her 
efforts to escape the ordeal of examination ; but he did not 
move ; all doctors were quacks who could talk very wisely, but 
could not cure him when one was ill. 

< Jeanne conducted the doctor down-stairs, talking the while, and 
Frans in his office heard Reyer ask after him, heard her say some- 
thing and call the servant to show him out. Then, as the carriage 
rolled away, she came in. 

Do I disturb you ? ” she asked, in her soft, subdued voice. 

6 


72 


ELINE VERE, 


“ No,, certainly not ; why ?” 

“ Why did you not come up-stairs for a moment, Frans ? ’ Reyer 
asked after you.” 

He shrugged his shoulders. 

“What is the use.?” he said with irritation. They send you to 
their Leiden or Utrecht celebrities, who make you pay a iientje'^ for 
a tAvo minutes^ talk.” 

“ But what do you want, then ? You cank expect to be cured by 
magic of a complaint from which you have suffered for the last two 
years. I think you ought to do more for your health than you have 
done in the three months we have been here. You have come to 
Europe for that purpose, have you not ?” 

Certainly ; but first I must find some one in whom I can place 
more confidence than Reyer. Reyer is a doctor k la mode, a re- 
commendation of the van Raats, very polite and gentlemanly, but 
much too superficial and hasty for me. Why, he is- gone ere you 
have seen him.” 

“ But you don’t speak to him frankly. I ask him about Dora and 
force him to stay longer, and really, now that he knows us better, he 
seems to take greater interest in us. And everybody says he is 
clever; it is not only the van Raats who believe in him.” 

“Well, I shall see ; there’s plenty of time yet. Sometimes you 
are just like a drop of water on a stone, continually drip, drip, drip. 
You are for ever hammering, hammering away at that doctor 
story,” he cried, impatient and dissatisfied with himself, and he 
opened his writing-case, as though to give her to understand that 
he had no more time. 

She went, and gently closed the door behind her. Up-stairs in the 
nursery she found their only servant, a young girl of sixteen, in a 
dirty apron and unkempt hair, making the beds ; while Dora, with 
the two boys Wim and Fritsje, were playing in the next room. 

“ I will close the door, then you can air the room, Mietje,” said 
Jeanne, and she closed the folding doors, and with a smile sat 
down beside the children, at a table near the window, covered all 
over with little socks, pinafores, frocks, all to be repaired. Oh 1 
what tiresome, wasteful children they were, to be sure ! She 
sighed, and her small thin hand fumbled about the things, and 
her eyes filled with tears. Why was she not stronger? how she 

' Dutch gold coin, of the value of ten florins. ■ , 


ELINE VERE. 


73 


■would have enjoyed getting through all her household duties!. Now 
she found it so hard to lift herself out of the listlessness into which 
she felt herself sinking, as into a yawning abyss ; from the lifeless 
languor which seemed to encircle her as with velvet arms ; and 
yet — there was so much to be done she durst not yield herself up 
to idle dreaming, nor rake up her old, wide-scattered recollections, 
like so many burnt-out cinders, and forget herself in her longing 
for the illusions of former days. Stern reality stared her in the face, 
in the shape of a great rent in Dora’s woollen frock, and in the 
washing that was waiting to^be counted before being sent to the 
laundry. 

j And yet even now, while her hand went fumbling about the little 
socks and vests, she let herself be drawn deeper and deeper into 
the soft down of her listlessness ; she bestirred herself with no 
energy to set about her work, and she did not hear the shrill 
quarrelling voices of the children. 

i She would so gladly have infused a flood of sunshine, a wealth of 
harmony into her humble home ; but she was no fairy, and she felt 
herself so weak even now, and already no longer able to withstand 
life’s small troubles, so that she dared not hope for a much rosier 
future. Indeed, when she thought of the future at all, it was not 
without fear and trembling, as a vague terror shaped itself into an 
indefinable form before her mind’s eye, so dread and awful that she 
could find no words with which to depict it. 

t Her head fell on her hand, and now and again a tear dropped on 
the linen in front of her. Oh ! how sweet would be her slumbers, 
if but the caress of one who loved her might be hers, one in whose 
affection she would have felt herself safe from all danger ! And she 
thought of her Frans, and how he had asked her to be his in their 
garden, under the blossoming lilac ; and now she worried him, 
and had become like a drop of water on a stone — drip, drip, 
drip. 

Ah I she knew it ; she had not ‘made him happy ; she was a gi*eat 
disappointment to him, but it was not her fault if he thought to find 
more in her than she possessed ; a stupid, simple, weak little woman, 
with a great need of much, very much love and tenderness, and with 
something of sentimental poesy in her little soul. 

And sighing, she raised herself, and told the children not to 
make so much noise, papa was down-stairs and had a headache. 

Then she looked about on the table after her work-basket, but 


74 


ELINE VERB. 


she had left it in the sitting-room, and so she ordered Dora, like a 
big girl, to look after her little brothers for a while. She usually 
spoke to the child as though she Avere a grown-up daughter, and 
Dora often helped her, very pleased that ma found her so useful. 
And Jeanne went down-stairs to the sitting-room, and began looking 
for the basket, when Frans came in. 

He had heard her coming down-stairs, and wanted to see her 
for a moment, as a feeling of self-reproach overmastered him. He 
approached her unawares, softly, on the tips of his slippered feet. 
He took her gently by the arms. 

She felt frightened for a moment, and when she looked up she 
saw in his eyes that very tenderness for which she longed, and with 
a little smile in which there almost lurked something like fear, he 
asked her — 

Are you angry ? ” 

Her eyes suddenly grew moist, and she nestled her head on his 
shoulder, and laid her arm round his neck, and shook her head. 

“Really not?” 

Again she shook her head, laughing amid her falling tears, and 
she closed her weeping eyes and felt his moustache on her lips as 
he kissed her. How quickly he repented when he had been unkind, 
and what a luxury it was to forgive him ! 

“ Come, don’t cry then ; it wasn’t so bad as all that.” 

She gave a sigh of relief and clung closer to him. 

“ If only you are a little gentle and kind to me — oh, then I feel 
myself so— so strong, then I feel equal to anything.” 

“ Darling little woman ! ” 

Again he kissed her, and under the warm love of his lips she 
forgot the icy cold of the fireless room, which caused her to shiver 
as she clung to his arms. 


ELINE VERE, 


75 


CHAPTER VIII. 

It was the fifth of December, and from early morn a mysterious 
stir and excitement, a joyous whispering, an anxious stowing away 
from peering eyes, had prevailed all day at the van Erlevoorts. 

A little after seven in the evening the Verstraetens arrived ; the 
two cousins, Jan and Karel, who had taken part in the tableaux, 
accompanied them ; then came the van Raats and Eline, followed 
by old Madame van Raat and Paul; Henk, however, and Jan 
Verstraeten did not enter the drawing-room, but mysteriously dis- 
appeared in a little cupboard where Marie and Lili had already laid 
a parcel of costumes. 

In the large drawing-room Madame van Erlevoort received her 
guests, who met with a jubilant welcome from the little van 
Ryssels and from Hector, and neither Mathilde nor Miss Frantzen 
could succeed in their efforts to stop the ear-splitting noise. 

“Now, why did you not bring Ben with you?” Madame van 
Erlevoort asked Betsy, indignantly. 

“ Really, madam, Ben is too young ; he is only three, you must 
remember, and it will be so late to-night.*’ 

“He could have ridden home with our Martha. It’s a pity ; I had 
something for him just to suit him,” said Madame van Erlevoort, 
in a tone of disappointment. 

In the opposite drawing-room, where the girls, with Otto, Paul, 
and Etienne, were talking and laughing, there was a stir, and the 
young van Ryssels looked up with nervous curiosity. Martha had 
just come in, and she had smilingly said something to Fred^rique. 

“Now, children and all good folks,” cried P'rederique, with a 
dignified face, “ silence ! Santa Claus has arrived and wants to 
l;now if he may enter. Do you agree, mamma ? ” 

They all kept themselves as serious as possible, with many a 
furtive glance at the little van Ryssels. 

Meanwhile, Santa Claus made his appearance in his white 
gaberdine, and long red cloak bordered with gold lace. His hair 
and beard were long and white, and on his head he wore a golden 
mitre. With much dignity he made his entry into the room, leaning 
on his staff, and his black page behind him, dressed in a cos- 
tume w’lich those who had witnessed the recent tableaux at the 


ELINE VERB. 


76 

Verstraetens’ would probably have recognized. The three women* 
servants and Willem followed them by way of rear-guard, and 
remained in the room looking on. 

The grown-up people all bowed, with a self-conscious smile, 
before my lord bishop. 

Santa Claus muttered a greeting, and all but stumbling over his 
immensely long gaberdine, he walked up to the sofa, where old 
Madame van Raat and Madame Verstraeten were seated, surrounded 
by Madame van Erlevoort, Mr. Verstraeten, Mathilde, Betsy, and 
Otto. No one troubled himself to rise from his seat, and Madame 
van Erlevoort welcomed the illustrious guest with a most familiar 
smile. 

“Why doesn’t grandma get up?” whispered Ernestine wonder- 
ing, as she raised her delicate intelligent little face to Marie’s. 
“I thought she would have got up when such an old, strange 
gentleman came in.” 

“ Mais, ecoute done, comme elle est fine ! ” Marie whispered to 
Eline, who stood next her. 

But Eline did not hear; she stood laughing with Paul and 
Etienne at Santa Claus, whose gaberdine was certainly coming 
down, and already quite covered his feet, whilst a streak of fair hair 
became visible between his gray locks and his mitre. 

Now Santa Claus raised his deep, full voice, and as, with an 
energetic wrench, he pulled up his gaberdine into his girdle, he 
motioned the little van Ryssels to come to him. They did not 
feel quite sure of the business, but when Santa Claus took one of 
the bags from his little servant’s hands, and opening it began to 
scatter its contents about, the youngsters’ faces grew radiant with 
joy, they forgot their terror, and one and all they threw them- 
selves, tumbling over Hector, on the floor, to scramble for what 
they could find — ginger-nuts, figs, nuts, oranges, chocolate. 

“ Scramble away, scramble away,” Santa Claus cried encourag- 
ingly, “ we’ve got a lot more ; look here ! Come, you big boys, 
don’t you want something too ? ” 

The cousins Verstraeten did not wait for a second invitation, and 
joined in the scramble. 

“Will you save them for me, grandma?” screamed Nico, and 
poured a torrent of sweet-stuff into his grandma’s lap ; “ then I’il 
go and fetch some more ! ” 


ELINE VERE. 


77 


“ Nico, Nico !” remonstrated Mathilde. 

“ Never mind,” said Madame van Erlevoort kindly. 

Santa Claus and the little page shook out their big sacks, which 
had been growing limper and limper by degrees, and turned them 
inside out, as a proof that they were quite empty. 

Oh, now we are going to the dining-room ! ” cried Ernestine, 
and she jumped up and clapped her little hands with pleasure. 

“ Oh yes ; to our little tables ! ” Johan chimed in. 

Every one rose, and they followed the Saint and the children to 
the small drawing-room, and the girls giggled at Santa Claus's 
falling wig, but the Saint called out to the servants and Willem — • 

*‘,Quick, throw open the doors ; make haste ! ” 

The folding-doors were opened, and the children stormed into 
the well-lit room, where, instead of the dining-table, there now 
stood four small tables ; on each of them lay a name in letters of 
chocolate, on each of them rose a tower of toys. 

The Verstraetens and the van Raats whispered to the servants, 
and their gifts to the youngsters were brought in also, one by one — 
hoops, whips, balls, tin soldiers, and a cow that gave milk. 

Meanwhile Santa Claus and his little slave took their departure, 
and as it was close upon half-past eight, Mathilde considered it 
time to stop the fun. But even with Miss Frantzen^s assistance 
she was not to achieve her object very quickly. The children got 
muddled in their attempts to collect their toys and dainties ; from 
Ernestine’s pocket a shower of nuts fell on the floor; Johan’s tin 
soldiers could not be got into their box again, and Lientje with 
her hoop and Nico with a trumpet rushed along the room followed 
by Hector, without troubling themselves much more about the rest 
of their property, which was scattered all around. 

“ Come, children,” cried Mathilde, “ make haste now ; kis getting 
bed-time.” 

But they heard nothing; the little van Ryssels, mad with joy, ran 
up and down, scattering about in wildest disorder the toys which 
the others had gathered together, and Frdderique joined in the 
fun, and took Nico on her back, whilst he made a horse of her, 
and struck her on the back with his whip. 

The little Verstraetens, too, ran after Tina and Johan, along the 
marble hall, making a furious stampede with their boots, 
i Mathilde clasped her hands in despair. No one took any notice 
of her. Miss Frantzenwas assisting t’ae servant with the toys, and 


ELINE VERB. 


7S 

the young girls were laughing with Paul and Etienne. Fortunately 
she caught sight of Otto, who was speaking to Betsy and Madame 
Verstraeten, and she walked towards him and took his hand. 

“ Oh, for goodness’ sake, Otto, do help me ; the children must 
really go to bed, and they won’t even listen to me. Mamma is not 
a bit of help either.” 

Madame van Erievoort, in fact, was at that moment in the 
other room, very busy filling Lientje’s toy tea-service with milk, 
water, and sugar, and old Madame van Raat and Mr. Verstraeten 
stood looking on with much amusement. 

“ Oh, I see ; Otto is to act the bogey man again,” he said good- 
humouredly. 

“No, no bogey man; but really I shall go crazy if you don’t 
come to my assistance. Did you ever see such uncontrollable 
creatures as those children of mine, Betsy? Are you coming, 
Otto?” 

Betsy laughed. 

“ You had better just go and assert your authority as uncle, Mr. 
van Erievoort,” said Madame Verstraeten. 

Otto accompanied Mathilde, first to Freddie. 

“Come, Freddie, Nico must go to bed. Come, Nico, quick; 
to-morrow you may ride again on auntie’s back. Down, Hector ! ” 

“You have nothing to do with my back, do you hear?” said 
Freddie; “do you hear, little grandpapa? Come, Niek, little 
grandpapa says we must leave off.” 

Nico obeyed, pouting, as he asked for his trumpet. Otto went 
into the hall, where he checked the two eldest in their mad 
race. 

“Come, Tine and Jo; mamma wants you to go to bed now. 
Don’t be disobedient now, or you will make mamma cross.” 

“ What a lot we’ve got this year, uncle !” cried Ernestine, out of 
breath. 

Mathilde came into the hall, leading Nico and Lientje by the 
hand. 

“Just fancy, there was mamma, quietly playing at tea-parties 
with Tine,” she said, and her despairing face made Otto smile. 
“ Really if it were midnight, mamma would ” 

“ Ma, dear, mustn’t we say good-night first to everybody ? 
screamed Johan. 

“ No, no ! ” cried Mathilde, quite terrified, and grasped the little 


ELINE VERE. 79 

hands close ; “ I shall wish all the people good-night for you. 
Thank you, Otto.” 

She gave him a friendly nod, and he nodded back with his 
genial smile and his frank eyes. 

And Mathilde took the children up-stairs. 

“ Then you can bear all that noise and turmoil ? ” asked old 
Madame van Raat of Madame van Erlevoort, and she looked at 
her smilingly, but wondering, with her sad, lack-lustre eyes. 

There was a sudden calm after the exodus of the children. 
They left the dining-room, where the toys were still scattered about ; 
the apartment was closed, and the guests went into the double 
drawing-room, where Madame van Erlevoort poured out tea. 

“ Can I bear it, madam ? I feel myself live again under it ; it 
rejuvenates me. I need the life of youth about me. I never spent 
a drearier time than when my daughters and my son Theodore 
were married, and yet I still had three children left me. But I 
must see those little beings fluttering about me ; there is nothing 
that keeps one in a brighter condition like their wild gaiety. May 
I pour you out another cup ? ” 

Madame van Raat handed her cup, and envied Madame van 
Erlevoort her youthful vivacity with her gray hairs. She compared 
her with herself, and her own melancholy solitude, the effect of 
which she felt doubly keen, after her former life of cloudless 
happiness, and her present existence stood out in cruel contrast 
to the joy-surrounded old age of that happy grandmamma. 

“ And you don’t Icnow how sorry I am that I see so little of 
Theodore’s six. The boy is in love with country life, and won’t hear 
of it when I attempt to persuade him to come and live in the Hague.” 

“Your daughter in England has only one child, has she not?” 
asked Madame Verstraeten and Madame van Stralenburg. 

Madame van Erlevoort bent down to Madame Verstraeten, and 
whispered something mysterious in her ear, whilst in reply to Mr. 
Verstraeten, who nodded to her smilingly, she archly winked her eye. 

Thereupon Madame van Erlevoort related how the little van 
Ryssels had placed their shoes aside the previous evening, when 
Henk and Jan Verstraeten came in, both smiling, and Henk with 
a very red face. Mathilde too came back, and many nice things 
were related about the children. All at once there was a furious 
ringing at the house- bell. 


80 


ELINE VERE. 


All eyes turned to the doDr as it opened. Willem, Truitje, and 
Rika between them dragged a big box into the room, towards 
Madame van Erlevoort. 

Oh ! exclaimed Frederique ; “ that is the box from London ! ” 

Madame van Erlevoort informed Madame van Raat that every 
year at St. Nicholas, her son-in-law Howard sent her a big box 
containing something for everybody. Willem, armed with crowbar 
•and pincers, and assisted by Etienne, removed the screws and 
nails. Every one was on the watch, and the shower of presents 
commenced. 

Eline made a little heap of her presents. Oh, how she was being 
spoilt, she declared, radiant with smiles. From Martha’s hand 
she took another packet; slowly she broke the string, cautiously 
looking about for a seal, or some stray letter or cipher, to give her 
a clue to the sender. But she found nothing of the kind, the address 
ran simply — “ Mdlle. E. Vere.” It was a gray leather case ; she opened 
it, wondering who could have sent it. Inside the case, resting on 
the gray velvet, lay a fan of beautifully-carved mother-of-pearl. 
She took it up, and slowly opened it ; she looked at it in admiration. 

Bucchi I ” she softly said, as she read the name of the painter 
at the bottom ; Bucchi ! ” 

The fan was, in fact, painted by the Italian artist, a fantasy of 
roses and fairies on a groundwork of ivory satin. 

From whom can this come ? ” she said. “ How splendid ! 

Every one rose, every one crowded round Eline, who carefully 
held the fan open, and the costly gift attracted general admiration. 
Eline was astonished. From Madame van Raat she had had a 
scent set, that she knew ; from Henk and Betsy 

‘‘Betsy dear, must I thank for this?” she asked, rising. 

Betsy shook her head. 

“ Parole d’honneur — not me, Eline.” 

Of course she had had a bracelet from Betsy and Henk ; but 
who, then, sent this fan ? 

“ Would it be from — Vincent perhaps?” she asked. 

“From Vincent? No, no; what put that into your head now? 
What young man would make such a present? Let me look 
at it.” 

Eline handed her the fan. *' 

“’Tis really magnificent,” said Betsy. 


ELINE VERE, 


8l 


Eline shook her head, quite at a loss for a clue. Meanwhile the 
fan was passed from hand to hand, and Eline carefully scanned 
every one’s face, but she could gather not the least sign from any 
of them. But suddenly Frederique raised her head, with a look 
of surprise on her face. She quickly recovered herself, and with 
apparent indifference approached Eline. 

“ May I see the case one moment ? ” she asked. 

Eline handed her the case, and Frederique eagerly scrutinized 
and felt the gray leather and the gray velvet. 

“ Have you got the slightest idea who could have sent me that ?” 
asked Eline, and she raised her arms in mock despair. 

Frederique shrugged her shoulders, and laid the case down. 

“No — I really don’t know,” she said, somewhat coolly, and she 
looked with some curiosity into Eline’s hazel eyes. 

An indefinable antipathy seemed to her to radiate from out of 
those gazelle-like eyes, and to lie hidden in the mock despair at 
the unknown giver. She cast not another glance at the universally 
admired fan, and during the remainder of the evening she was 
quieter than ever she had been before. 

The torrent of presents had ceased. Madame van Erlevoort 
asked her guests to leave her two terribly disarranged drawing- 
rooms, full of paper, straw, bran, and rubbish, when Willem once 
more opened the doors of the dining-room, and the table, ready 
laid for supper, looked bright and inviting enough. 

It was a gay and lively supper-party. Mr. Verstraeten kept 
Madame van Erlevoort and Betsy, between whom he was seated, 
amused with his jokes, and Mathilde, next to Betsy, often joined 
in the laughter. Henk, seated between his mother and his aunt, 
wanted nothing ; whilst Otto and Eline were busily engaged in 
conversation, and Etienne chattered noisily with Lili and Marie. 

“ Freddie, how quiet you are, ch^re amie,” said Paul, as he took 
possession of a lobster salad, seeking in vain to set his little neigh- 
bour, generally animated enough, a-talking. “ Didn’t receive enough 
presents to your li’.ing, perhaps ?” 

Quiet ? am / quiet ? How can you say such a thing ? ” answered 
Freddie, and she began to chatter with an overpowering animation, 
which sounded like an echo of Etienne’s. But still there was some- 
thing artificial about it ; her laugh was not always a hearty one ; 
and every now and then she stole a furtive glance at Eline, as she 


82 


ELINE VERE. 


sat there, brilliant in her beauty, in lively chat with Otto. Yes, 
there was something very fascinating about her, something of a 
siren’s charm ; her beautiful dreamy eyes half closed, as she 
laughed, while the soft line of her delicate lips faded away in 
two small dimples. And those beautiful hands, peeping out so 
white from amid the black lace and the dark red bows of her 
bodice, and that coquettish-looking diamond, one single brilliant 
stone, trembling like a drop of crystal in the black tulle round her 
throat. Yes, Frederique thought her bewitching ; but still, she 
could not help it, she thought her antipathetic ; and almost with 
anxiety her eyes followed those of Otto, whose glance seemed 
riveted to the siren. 

Meanwhile, however, she continued laughing and talking with 
Paul, with Etienne, and Lili, and Marie, and old Madame van Raat 
declared across the table that the family’s arclvelf of fun was 
thoroughly sustaining her reputation. 

The champagne streamed into the glasses, and Mr. Verstraeten 
drank a toast to the ever-youthful hostess, with her beautiful white 
hair, and thanked her with a kiss for the jolly evening. Eline and 
Otto drank together to some toast of which Frederique could not 
catch the words, and which she would gladly have given her best 
present to understand ; but still she did not ask. 

‘‘Etienne, \vhat a noise you’re making!” she cried, with some 
impatience, to her brother, who, with all the strength of his lungs, 
sang something about — 

Buvons jusqu’a k la lie ! ” 

while his glass nearly spilt its contents over Lili’s plate. But when 
she had said so much, she was sorry for it ; why should not others 
enjoy themselves, if she could not ? 

The supper was over, the carriages were waiting for the guests, 
who left one by one, laden with the presents each had received. 
Mathilde felt tired, and soon went up-stairs, whilst Madame van 
Erlevoort and Otto were packing the presents together. 

“ What a state the rooms are in ! ” said Freddrique, as she kicked 
a cardboard box aside. Then she approached the table ; ah, 
where was the fan ? Eline had taken it away with her. Then she 
kissed her mother and Otto, playfully rumpled Etienne’s hair, and 
took her presents up-stairs. 

Slowly she undressed herself, so slowly that the chill air made 


ELINE VERE. 


33 

her shiver. And as she, trembling with cold, crept under her 
blankets, she once more saw Eline before her, in all her bewitching 
grace, in her black lace, smiling at Otto. It all began to whirl 
before her eyes, like a confused kaleidoscope — Henk, in his dress as 
Santa Claus, with his falling gaberdine, and Jan Verstraeten as 
the little page, the box from London, the fan by Bucchi. 


CHAPTER IX. 

It was a few days after St. Nicholas’ Eve when Eline went out one 
afternoon, taking little Ben by the hand. The previous evening she 
had been, together with Madame Verstraeten, Marie, and Lili, to the 
opera, to see II Trovatore^ and that morning she had asked her old 
grumbler of a singing-master to accompany her in 

‘*La nuit calme et sereine.” 

He shook his head ; he did not care for those bravura arias of the 
Italian school, about which Eline was often at variance with him ; 
she thought Bellini, Donizetti, Verdi most graceful and melodious 
music, as though written for her ringing soprano. He on the other 
hand considered them childish with their rippling airy little tunes, 
and was never tired of dwelling upon the richer depth of Wagner. 
But she had him completely under her thumb, and he played 
whatever she wished him to. 

“ Come, Ben, walk properly, there’s a good child ! ” said Eline to 
the sturdy little chap. “ Come, keep up with auntie. Isn’t it nice 
to go into all the nice shops ?” 

Last evening, when at the opera, during the cavatina of the 
Comte de Luna, Eline had an idea rising in her mind. In the 
window of a photographer’s she had noticed some portraits of 
Fabrice in various characters and dresses, and a sudden desire 
overtook her to possess one. So now she was on her way to buy 
one of the portraits. And she smiled to herself as though she 
enjoyed the secret pleasure of it, as she pictured him with his big* 
heavy frame, his fine head of hair, and his black beard. How 
glorious to be an actor ! 


84 


ELINE VERB. 


From Fabrice her thoughts wandered back to her new fan, which 
she had used last evening. Betsy thought she had acted very 
foolishly in taking it with her before she knew the giver, but she 
had taken no notice of her sister’s objections ; on the contrary, she 
thought there was something fascinating in that uncertainty which 
had a peculiar attraction for her romantic nature ; indeed she had 
already formed quite a little romance for herself out of the little 
incident. Fabrice had noticed her in the Verstraetens’ box ; he was 
quite captivated by her ; in future it was only to her that he sang, 
and his heart was filled with disappointment whenever he did not 
see her at the opera. It was he who had sent her the fan with its 
modest superscription, “ Mdlle. E. Vere”; he had seen her use the 
fan last night, and one time or other he would be sure to betray 
himself by a glance or a certain note in his song. 

She smiled at her own romancing, at the wildness of her fantasy. 
She remembered last summer at the picture academy to have seen 
several fans by Bucchi, and now she also recollected with what 
admiration she had gazed at them, and how she had expressed the 
desire to possess one. Who could have had the delicate attention 
to meet her in that desire? With whom had she been to that 
exhibition? With Emilie de Woude, with Georges perhaps — surely 
Georges could not have — or her dancing-master, who had pro- 
posed to her, but whom she had refused? Oh ! it was too stupid ; 
no, she would think no more about it — one day she would 
know. 

By way of the Parkstraat and the Oranjestraat she had reached 
the Noordeinde and was close to the picture-shop, when all at once 
the thought struck her — would not the shopkeeper think it absurd 
for a young girl to purchase such a portrait ? No ; she would never 
summon up courage. But already she stood before the window, 
behind which masses of engravings, photographs, groups of statuettes 
in marble and terra-cotta, and numbers of various objects of art were 
displayed in elegant confusion ; actors and actresses, singers and 
painters, with their names attached : Estelle Desveaux, Moulinat, 
Theo Fabrice. 

“Come, Ben,” she said, and gently pushed the child inside. 
There were some ladies in the shop, selecting photographs, and 
they looked at her. She could not help it, but really she thought 
she blushed under her white tulle fall. 

“ May I see some of your New Year’s cards, like those in your 


ELINE VERE. 8 $ 

window ?” she asked the shopkeeper. “ Don’t touch those statuettes, 
Ben.” 

A number of cards were shown her. She looked at them atten- 
tively, took them up with the tips of her well-gloved fingers, and 
laid a few aside. Then she loohed round her, noticed a heap of 
portraits, and with her languid indifference she took them up. 
Fabrice’s were among them. 

Which should she take? This melancholy-looking one in the 
black velvet costume and 1 ice collar, representing Hamlet ; that 
one as Tell? No, this one, as Ben-Said, the character in which she 
had first seen him. But she would also take that one of Moulinat, 
the tenor, and of Estelle Desveaux, the contralto ; then it would not 
be remarked that she had come expressly for Fabrice. But then 
she might just as well take another of Fabrice, as Hamlet. 

Will you let me have these cards, and these four portraits ?” 

“ Shall I send them to you?” 

“ Oh no, I will take them. How much is it altogether ? ” 

•She paid the money, took the envelope in which the shopman 
had enclosed them, and left the shop with Ben, under the firm 
impression that the ladies, who were still engaged with the photo- 
graphs, looked at her as though they would read her inmost 
thoughts. 

1 A glow of pleasure came over Eline’s face when once she was 
outside. At last she had summoned up courage to do what she had 
long determined, and she spoke in a gentle motherly way to Ben. 
And when, on reaching the Hoogstraat, she saw Jeanne Ferelyn 
in her winter cloak, wide as a sack, and her modest little black 
hat, walking on the opposite side without noticing her, she took 
Ben’s hand, and quickly crossing the street between two carriages, 
greeted Jeanne with smiling cordiality. They walked on a few 
steps together, Jeanne telling her that Dora was getting on nicely, 
but that she had been obliged to engage a nursemaid, as she could 
not always leave the children to the care of Mietje, who was so 
slovenly and careless, and that it had somewhat crippled her 
finances. Eline forced herself to be attentive to the tale of her 
latest troubles; but soon Jeanne began to speak with more anima- 
tion about Frans, her father, and Doctor Reyer, with whom she 
was getting on better now. Then as she saw how sympathetically 
Eline looked at her, and how gently she spoke to Ben, she raked 


86 


ELINE VERE. 


up some of the recollections of her school-days, and they laughed-, 
about their childish pranks, and about the cherries she used to 
pick out of Eline’s cape. Jeanne was annoyed at herself for 
having formed such an unfavourable impression of Eline when she 
met her at the van Raats’ dinner-party ; now she found her quite 
unaffected and amiable. 

“ But don’t let me detain you any longer, Eline,” said she, stop- 
ping short ; “ I have to make a few trifling purchases, order some 
saucepans, and a milk-jug. Mietje has been breaking some things.” 

Oh ! I have nothing to do. I’ll walk with you so far, if you don’t 
think I’m de trop^ and if Ben isn’t tired. Are you tired, little man ? 
No, eh ? Oh ! he is such a good one at walking ! ” 

They walked on, and Jeanne ordered the saucepans, and Eline 
went into the china-shop and chose a milk-jug for her. At the 
same time her mind was still running on Fabrice, and at times she 
felt an irresistible longing to open the envelope and look at his 
portraits. She was so passionately fond of music, and Fabrice 
sang with such pathos, with so much more feeling than other actors. 
He was still young, she thought ; he would yet be famous, and 
make his debut in Paris. Jeanne never went to the opera, and 
probably had never yet seen him. 

Would she, Eline, meet him one day in the street, she wondered ? 
And how would he look, in his everyday clothes ? Yes ; one morn- 
ing she would pretend to have an early call to make somewhere, 
and she would pass by the opera-house. Perhaps there might be a 
rehearsal, and if so she would probably meet some of the artistes in 
the neighbourhood of the building. Absorbed in her own thoughts 
she did not always hear what Jeanne was saying ; but she continued 
to look at her, as she walked by her side, with those sympathetic 
eyes and that winning smile, which were among Eline’s greatest 
charms. 

Meanwhile they had turned the corner, and on reaching the 
Hoogewal, she took leave of Jeanne. 

Well, good-bye. I’ll come and look you up scon, Jany; re- 
member me to Ferelyn, do you hear? Come, Ben, shake hands 
with the lady.’’ 

In her longing after affection, Jeanne felt something like a 
grateful glow of warmth at the sound of that name Jany; it 
seemed like an echo of former days, when as a girl every one 
called her Jany. 


ELINE VERE. 


87 

, And she hurried back to the Hugo de Grootstraat, full of high 
spirits, longing once more to be in her little home, with her husband 
and her little darlings of children. 

Eline smiled to herself as she passed through the Willemspark 
on her way home. The bare branches over her head glistened 
with hoar frost, and the frigid air was clear and seemingly full of 
vague echoes. She felt a strong impulse to give expression to 
her happiness in that free atmosphere, by an outburst of joyous 

song. Was she a little smitten then — with that 

No, no, it was too absurd ; it was only that he sang well ! 


CHAPTER X. 

The flaming fire cast great, quivering shadows, like dancing^ 
black spectres, on the walls and ceiling of the dark room. Now 
and then a momentary flash of brightness would hover about an 
antique silver ewer, or glint along a carved sideboard, which, like 
a vague dark mass, filled up an angle in the room, or play about a 
set of old china, ora pair of antique vases over the mantelpiece. 

Vincent Vere lay stretched on his sofa, and looked around with 
half-closed eyes, each time there was a flickering of light over the 
room. That strange prevailing gloom, penetrated by fitful gleams 
of ruddy light, made him pleasantly forgetful of his prosaic rooms, 
where a stray object of vertu of his own was in screaming contrast 
with the shabby gentility of the furniture. And he lay musing 
awhile in the Dantesque twilight 

These last few days he had felt very worn and exhausted. A 
languor seemed to numb his limbs ; it was as though it were warm 
water instead of blood that coursed through his veins ; at times a 
mist seemed to hang before his eyes, so that he could neither act 
nor think. His eyelids drooped wan and limp over his lack-lustre, 
light blue eyes ; his lower lip hung down heavily, and about his 
small mouth there was a very pained expression. He had often 
felt like that, but this time he ascribed it to the atmosphere of the 
Hague, which well-nigh suffocated him, and he longed for more 
space and more air, and could not understand why he should have 

7 


88 


ELINE VERE. 


gone to a city, which had always had so little attraction for 
him. Yes, he remembered — through the mist of his exhaustion 
— he had wished for a span of rest, after all his restless wander- 
ings ; but already, notwithstanding his fatigue, he felt a nervous 
stimulation to action, and an inward spur once more to throw 
himself into a vortex of change. Rest and monotony had a 
dulling effect upon him, and in spite of his weakness he felt 
continually excited to movement and action, and an insatiable 
longing for an ever-changing horizon. And yet he lacked the 
energy to devote himself with determination to any kind of labour, 
whilst his changeable nature constantly drove him onward in a 
restless search after some surroundings, some sphere or occupa- 
tion in which he might feel at home, and which he ever failed to 
find. 

The two weeks which he had spent in the Hague seemed to 
him an age of ennui. The day after he had met Betsy and Eline 
at the opera, he had been to take coffee at the van Raats’, and 
had asked Henk to lend him 500 florins ; he was daily expecting 
some money from Brussels, he said, and he would repay him at 
the very first opportunity. Henk, though he knew him to be exceed- 
ingly forgetful in such matters, did not like to refuse, and handed 
him the amount, and so Vincent lived on, one day allowing the 
money to run as water through his fingers, the next with parsimo- 
nious economy hesitating to spend a dubbeltje^ while the drafts 
from Brussels continued to stay away. 

About the future he troubled himself but little ; he had ever 
led a hand-to-mouth existence ; he had known days of luxury in 
Smyrna, and suffered privation in London and Paris ; but in what- 
ever circumstances he might have found himself, that feverish desire 
for change had spurred him on, in continual dissatisfaction with 
the present ; and at that moment, while he was living on his 500 
florins, he felt so unnerved that the very burden of his listlessness 
at times almost made him forget his weakness. 

Then he mused on, gazing into the darkness, now and again lit 
up by the ruddy flames, as they shot forth from the hearth and 
fell in spectral relief about the gloom-hidden furniture. He mused 
on, in coldest pessimism. Why should he be other than he was ? 
He would again want money, and he would get it somehow; 
why not ? There was neither good nor evil in the world ; every- 
thing was as it should be, and the inevitable result of an unbroken 


ELINE VERE. 


89 

chain of causes and reasons ; everything that was had a right to 
be ; no one could alter that which was, or was to be ; no one had 
a free will ; every one was only a different temperament, and no 
one could act in any way but in accordance with the demands and 
nature of that temperament, influenced by circumstances and 
surroundings ; that and that alone was truth, yet mankind with 
its childish idealism, eternally prating about virtue, and provided 
with a handful of religious poesy, was ever seeking to hide it. 

Great heavens ! what a life it is ! ” he thought, and his fingers 
wandered about his light brown curls. ‘‘The life at least that I 
am leading now, for a year of it, would kill me, or drive me mad. 
To-morrow is like to-day, nothing but one blank monotony.” 

And he threw himself into an ocean of memories, as he thought 
of what he had lived through, and scenes in many climes and 
pictures of various cities rose before his mind. 

“And yet, what a struggling, what a toiling for nothing at all,” 
he muttered, and his eyes closed, whilst swiftly a veil appeared 
to descend over his memory, and light drops of perspiration formed 
on his brow. There was a singing in his ears, and suddenly, a 
vague space, terrible in its extent, imrolled before his closed 
eyes. 

But this state of weakness, bordering almost on a swoon, lasted 
only a few seconds ; and a deep sigh escaped his bosom. 

There was a noise of rapid footsteps up the stairs, and a cheerful 
voice was heard exchanging a word of greeting with the lady in 
the fancy shop below. He was expecting a few acquaintances that 
evening. 

The door opened. 

“ The deuce, how dark it is ! It looks like hell here, with that 
terrific fire. Where are you hiding, Vere.^” cried Paul van Raat, 
standing by the open door. 

Vincent rose and walked towards him, and grasped Paul by the 
shoulders. 

“Here, old chap, don’t be alarmed. Wait, I’ll light the lamp.” 

He sought some matches, lit a couple of old-fashioned lamps on 
the mantelpiece, and blinked his eyes, dazzled by the sudden light. 
The Dantesque halo that hung over the room was soon dispelled 
by the yellow petroleum light, but the bright burning fire still looked 
sociable, although the antique sideboard with the silver ewer and 


ELINE VERE. 


90 

a fewOriental objects of art looked sorely out of place among the 
old-fashioned furniture in threadbare red Utrecht velvet, and the 
antique pieces of china seemed like so many misplaced aristocrats 
among the ugly, cheap engravings and common oleographs which 
lined the walls. 

It was the first time that Paul had entered Vincent’s abode, and 
he looked admiringly at the ewer and the china plates. 

‘‘Yes, they are not bad ; the ewer is cracked, but the workman- 
ship is very fine, do you see? I called upon an old Jew dealer 
to-day ; I want to get rid of the things. You see, they only take 
up the room. He was going to call to-morrow. Or perhaps you 
would like them ? They are to be had.” 

“ No ; my room — or my studio, if you like — is too full already.” 

“ Well, a few plates more or less 

“ No ; thank you.” 

“After all, I would rather sell them to the Jew. Perhaps I can 
manage to best him a bit, and, of course, I should not care to do 
that to you.” 

“ Much obliged. And suppose he is too sharp for you ?” 

“ Well, then he must best me, that’s all. It’s always thus in the 
world, isn’t it ? You have had tea, I suppose ?” 

“ Yes — no, thank you ; never mind. But, tell me, how long are 
you going to stay in the Hague ? ” 

They sat down, and Vincent shmgged his shoulders. He really 
did not know ; he had not yet received any information about the 
situation in the quinine factory in Java; but he heard they would 
give the preference to a chemist, which he was not. So he would 
most likely give up the idea ; and, besides, he didn’t think the 
Indian climate would agree with him. In the meantime, staying 
in the Hague, to find something there, was out of the question. He 
was already getting tired of the Hague — it was so kleinsidttig ; 
every one knew every one else, at least by sight, and everywhere 
he met the same people, intensely tiresome ! He had not yet made 
up his mind what to do, but he was expecting letters and remittances 
from Brussels. And he concluded by asking Paul if he could lend 
him a hundred gulden for a day or two. Paul thought he could 
manage it, but he could not yet say for certain. 

“You would really be doing me a service; shall I hear from 
you then to-morrow? or do you think me indiscreet?” 

“ Oh no ; not at all Yes, all right, I shall see to-morrow.” 


ELINE VERB. 


91 


“Well, thanks in advance. You know the two Erlevoorts and 
de Woude are coming this evening. I have asked them to come 
and drink a glass of wine,” said Vincent, in an altered tone, 

“ Yes ; I saw them this afternoon at the Witte,” answered 
PauL 

Vincent leant back against the old red bench, and the lamp-light 
cast a yellowish reflection on his sallow features, and a care-worn 
expression formed about his mouth. Paul was struck by Verc’s 
remarkable resemblance to his uncle Vere, Eline’s father, as he 
lay back, and raised his arm behind his head, with a gesture such 
as he had frequently remarked in Eline. 

A little later, some time after nine, Georges de Woude van Bergh 
and Etienne van Erlevoort came, the latter apologizing for his 
brother, who had been prevented from coming. 

Otto felt no sympathy for Vincent, although he had never had 
any unpleasantness with him whatever; with his own practical, 
manly character never disturbed in its healthy equilibrium, with 
his hearty brusquerie, he could cherish no friendship towards a man 
who, in his opinion, gave himself completely over to a morbid, 
hyper-sensitiveness, without making the slightest effort to raise 
himself out of it. Otto was one of the few persons whom Vincent 
could not succeed in drawing towards him. Almost every one on 
coming into contact with him felt conscious of someihiag that 
repelled even while it attracted ; something like a sweet, alluring 
poison, like the overpowering fumes of opium. His continued 
travelling had given Vincent a good deal of knowledge of human 
nature, or rather of tact in dealing with all sorts of people, and he 
could, when he chose, assume any character to suit the circum- 
stances, with the same ease as a serpent writhes itself into various 
coils, or as an actor interprets various roles. But Ctto, with an 
involuntary pride in his own healthy strength, which ever went 
straight at its object, despised Vincent, because of the poisonous 
fascination which he had the power to shed about him, and the 
seduction of which others were unable to resist. 

Ere long a bluish smoke filled the room, Vincent having offered 
cigars round, although he himself did not smoke. He took a couple 
of bottles of St. Emilion from a cupboard, uncorked them, and 
placed four glasses on the table. Etienne, with his usual spirits, 
sat relating story after story, with an amount of mimicry and gesture. 


92 


ELINE VERE. 


and a strong flavouring of youthful patois, that gave him some- 
what the air of a singer at a cafi chaniant, Paul and Georges 
laughed. But Vincent shrugged his shoulders, with a blasS smile, 
and as he filled the glasses muttered contemptuously, in his light 
voice — 

What a baby you are, Eetje, Eetje I ” 

Etienne, however, took no notice of the remark, and continued 
his stories, growing more and more spicy as he went on, whilst the 
others listened and enjoyed the bouquet of their wine. But Vincent 
could not resist the temptation to chaff him. 

^‘What a naughty boy that young Erlevoort is to talk about 
such things, eh ? What a sad do^ ” he said, and the mocking 
laugh about his mouth was too encouraging that Etienne should 
desist. 

Vincent once more filled the glasses, and Georges praised the 
wine. He had never very much to say Avhen amongst young men ; 
he generally gave himself up to quiet enjoyment. It was only for 
the society of ladies that he reserved all the sparkle of his brilliant 
wit Vincent asked him one or two questions about his work at 
the ministry for foreign affairs. 

“ I suppose you will be attached to some legation or other one 
day?^’ he said. 

Very likely,*’ answered Georges. 

Well, at all events, it is a situation which gives you the chance 
of seeing something of the world. But how any one can pass 
his whole life in an office, I can’t conceive. It would kill me 
There’s Erlevoort, now — I mean your brother, Eetje.” 

You let Otto alone,” said Paul. ** He has a great career before 
him, you shall see.” 

“ Yes, you know, Otto is cut out for a cabinet minister or a 
governor-general — at least, so his mother always says. ’Tis I alone 
who am the outcast of the family,” cried Etienne. 

^‘Yes; the spoilt child, eh?” laughed Vincent “How far are 
you now in your studies ?” 

“ Oh, I’m going on all right I am not at college, you know, I 
am studying in the Hague.” 

Do you think it so enjoyable in the Hague, then, in July?” 
asked Vincent, in a tone of contempt 

“ Yes ; it’s not so bad.” 

“ How, in Heaven’s name, is it possible? You fellows are very 


ELINE VERE. 


93 


easily satisfied then, I must say, or rather you haven’t any idea of 
what the world is like. The Hague makes me sleepy and dull, 
there’s something drowsy in the atmosphere.” 

That’s your own doing, I dare say,” laughed Paul. 

“ Possibly ; and maybe ’tis my fault too that I think the life you 
fellows lead here too soul-killing. Now what is it you are doing 
here, I should like to know? You are continually running about 
in one little circle, like a horse in a roundabout at the Kermis, 
Should you be in a situation, you have always exactly the same little 
jobs to do, and when you have done, the same little amusements 
await you in the evening. Great Scott ! how insipid ! ” 

But w'hat is it you would have us do then ?” asked Georges. 

As far as I am concerned you can go on vegetating here, if you 
like ; but I can’t understand you fellows not even wanting to see 
something of the world.” 

“ Well, now there’s yourself ; you have seen the world, as you 
call it, haven’t you? and what have you gained by it? you are a 
Jack-of-all-trades,and a master of none ; and up to now you haven’t 
achieved any very brilliant results ! ” cried Paul, a little out of 
humour at the contemptuous way in which Vincent had referred 
to him. 

Behind his eye-glass an angry gleam shot forth from Vincent’s 
dull blue eyes, whilst his thin lips closed. 

“ And you are forgetting your duties as a host, with your philoso- 
phizing,” cried Etienne, pointing to his empty glass. 

“ I suppose the fact is that I am of a more excitable temperament 
than you fellows,” said Vincent, in a languid voice. He again filled 
up the glasses, and sank down wearily beside Georges, and his eyes 
wandered listlessly about the room. 

It was growing very warm, and the tobacco smoke hung in thick 
clouds about the ceiling. Vincent opened the door. Etienne, who 
could not take much wine, had become very excited, there were red 
circles about his eyes, and he had broken his glass. Georges and 
Paul continued to enjoy his jokes. Vincent, however, listened to 
him with a faint smile. 

And in his mind there arose a strange wondering, a wondering 
that a man always retained his own individuality, without the 
power of transforming himself into the personality of any one else. 
Often, without the slightest cause, he would find himself lost in 


94 


ELINE VERE. 


■wonder at this idea, in the midst of the most cheerful company,* 
and he would be filled with an indescribable feeling of ennui at the 
thought of his inevitable fate ever to remain what he was — Vincent 
Vere ; that he never could be transformed into some entirely dif- 
ferent being, which would breathe under entirely different circum- 
stances and in an entirely different sphere. He would have liked 
to have lived through various phases of life, to have existed in 
different ages, and to have sought his happiness in constantly 
changing metamorphoses. And this desire appeared to him at the 
same time very childish, because of its ridiculous impossibility, and 
very noble because of the grandiose unattainability which it in- 
volved ; and he believed that no one but him cherished such a de- 
sire, and thought himself very much exalted above others. In his 
musings it seemed to him as though the three others were very far 
removed from him, as though they were separated from him by the 
smoky haze. A feeling of lightness suddenly passed through his 
brain ; it was as if he saw every object in brighter colouring, as 
if their laughter and chat sounded louder and more metallic in his 
ear, as if the flavour of the tobacco, mingled with the aroma of 
the wine, assumed a more pungent odour, whilst the veins in his 
temples and pulse throbbed as if they would burst. 

This excitement of his nerves continued for a few seconds, then 
he saw his guests laughingly looking at him, and although he had 
not understood a word of what they said, he also laughed lightly, 
that they might think that he shared their amusement. 

** I say, Vere, ’tis getting confoundedly close here, my eyes ache 
with the smoke,” said Georges; “couldn’t we open a window?” 

Vincent nodded his head and closed the door, whilst Paul, who 
sat by the window, opened it. A rush of cool air quickly entered. 
Outside it was very quiet ; now and again voices might be heard 
to the accompaniment of measured footsteps, or a shrill street tune 
re-echoed through the stillness. 

The chill air brought Vincent quite to himself again, and his 
strange desires vanished, now that his nerves grew calmer. Now, 
on the contrary, he envied the three that same physical and moral 
Nirvana which he had looked upon with such contempt a short 
while since ; Paul he envied his vigorous health, just a trifle 
enervated by a somewhat languid sestheticism ; Georges his calm 
equanimity and contented mind ; Etienne his joyous youthfulness. 
Why indeed was he not like them, healthy, contented, and youthful ? 


ELINE VERB. 95 

why did he not enjoy life as it was ? why was he continually seeking 
after a something which he could not even define himself? 

It was close upon one when the three young men rose, and Paul 
declared that they would have to take Etienne home, as his early 
excitement had given way to a mood of melancholy, and he was 
continually talking about suicide. 

. “ I say, Eetje, have you got your key ? ” he asked. 

“ Key ? ” asked Etienne with dull staring eyes, and husky voice. 
*^Key?” he repeated, reflecting. ‘‘Yes, in my pocket, yes — a 
key — in my pocket — here ” 

“ Come, let us go then,” said Georges. 

Etienne approached Vincent and took him by the shoulders, 
while the others listened in amusement. 

“ Good-bye, Vere, thanks for your hospi — hospitality. I always 
had a liking for you, Vere ; you’re a trump of a fellow, do you hear, 
Vere ? I feel much, very much sympathy for you, do you hear ? 
Only this afternoon at the Witte I was saying — Paul was there — 
— and heard me — I said, Vere, that your heart was in the right 
place. They misjudge you, Vere, but ” 

“ Come, aliens ! ” cried Paul and Georges, with impatience, taking 
hold of his arm ; “cut it short.” 

“No, no; let me have my say — they misjudge you, Vere; but 
don’t you take any notice of it, old boy ; ’tis just the same with me, 
they misjudge me too. ’Tis sad, very sad, but so it is ; good-bye, 
Vere ; good-night, Vere ; sleep well.” 

Vincent saw him to the door with a lighted candle, and Etienne 
walked to the steps, supported between Georges and Paul. 

“ Vere, be careful now. Don’t catch cold standing at the door, 
and don’t you take any notice ; they misjudge you, but I will take 
your part ” 

Vincent nodded smilingly at Georges and Paul, and closed the 
door. 

“ Deuced pleasant chap, that Vere ! ” stammered Etienne. 




96 


ELINE VERE. 


• CHAPTER XI. 

After four o’clock the Verstraetens vrere generally at home, and 
to-day about that time the house happened to be stormed with 
visitors. Betsy and Eline had just looked in, and met the Eekhofs, 
and the Hydrechts, Emilie de Woude, and Fr^ddrique; later on 
came Madame van der Stoor and little Cateau. 

Eline, with her hand on Cateau’s shoulder, bent over the photo- 
graph at which the latter was looking. 

She felt conscious of having made a strong impression on Cateau 
by her grace and geniality, and as, in her need for affection, she 
was always glad to create sympathy, she nurtured Cateau’s love as 
a precious flower. But that longing for affection was not unmingled 
with a touch of proud triumph towards Frdderique, in whom, ever 
since St. Nicholas’ Eve, she suspected, she knew not why, a secret 
aversion towards herself. 

While Cateau was speaking to her, in her pleasant little voice, 
Eline just glanced round at Fred^rique in order to see if she noticed 
the sympathetic admiration of her little friend. But Frdderique 
was too much engaged joking with the young Eekhofs. 

‘^You often sing with Mr. van Raat ; has he a nice voice?” 
asked Cateau. 

A little weak, but very pretty.” 

“ Oh ! I should so much like to hear you together.” 

“ Well, I dare say you will some day.” 

“You have such a splendid voice ; oh ! I think it so delightful 
to hear you sing.” 

Eline gave a little laugh, flattered by Cateau’s ecstasy. 

“Really? But, Toos, don’t go on calling me Miss Vere, ’tis so 
formal ; call me Eline in future, will you ? ” 

Cateau blushed with pleasure, and stroked the fur of Eline’s 
muff. She gave herself completely over to the charm of that 
melodious voice, to the fascinating influence of that soft, gazelle- 
like glance. 

Eline felt more than usually in need of much affection and 
tenderness. In her innermost heart, her admiration for Fabrice 
had blazed forth in a passion that filled her whole being, and 
to which she felt constrained to give vent, without betraying herself. 


ELINE VERE. 


97 


The wealth of love which she felt was in her, and which she durst 
not proclaim, she attempted to share amongst those who were 
worthy of it, like a costly bouquet of which she threw a flower to 
those around her. Those chosen ones she beamed upon with her 
captivating glance, and was enraptured when she saw that others 
felt themselves drawn towards her ; but on the other hand it gave 
her pain when she was met with coldness in return. Thus it was 
with Frederique’s inexplicable surliness ; and although at first with 
a certain haughtiness she would take no notice of it, she now did 
her best to win her affection, and on meeting her she had addressed 
her with all the charm of her manner. But Freddrique’s answers 
were given in a curt, careless tone, and with averted head; she 
suspected that Eline had remarked her coolness, but she was of 
too frank a nature to be able to hide her feelings : she had no 
tact to feign what she did not feel. 

^ The conversation turned on portraits, and Madame Verstraeten 
passed by Eline and Cateau to take from a table an album which 
she wanted to show Madame van der Stoor and Madame Eekbof. 

Musingly, and half listening to Toos, Eline thought of Fabrice, 
and saw the album in Madame Verstraeten’s hands. And sud- 
denly an idea rose to her mind, like a twig of her vivid fantasy, 
with which her passion was overgrown. Yes ; she would procure 
an album for herself, with various portraits of him ; it would be as 
a little shrine of her love, in which she could worship the image of 
her god, unbeknown to any one but herself. A secret joy stole 
over her features at that resolve, and at the thought that she had 
so much to conceal from the eyes of others she began to consider 
herself very important in her own eyes, and to feel herself more 
and more absorbed by the treasures of her passion. She was 
happy, and her happiness was mingled with an arch playfulness 
and secret exultation at the thought that she concealed within 
herself something that her circle of friends would naturally have 
considered very foolish and very reprehensible, had they known 
of it. A girl like her, to be in love with an actor ! What would 
Madame Verstraeten and Betsy and Emilie and Cateau and Frede- 
rique, Henk and Paul and Vincent, what would they all think and 
say could they suspect that ? 

And with a half-mocking glance she looked round at her relatives 
and friends ; she thought herself plucky, secretly to defy the con- 
ventionalities to such an extent as to dare to be smitten with 


ELINE VERE. 


98 


Fabrice ! A jocular remark of Emilie’s made her laugh more^ 
immoderately than it called for ; at the same time she laughed at 
all who were there, in haughty arrogance at her illicit passion. 

“And Mr. van Raat — Mr. Paul, I mean — will be a lawyer, I 
suppose ? asked Cateau. 

What a lot that child had to say about Paul ! thought Eline. 
There was no end of Paul — Paul’s nice voice, and Paul a lawyer 

“ I think you rather like Paul, don’t you " asked Eline. 

“ Oh, yes ; I like him very much,” said Cateau, without hesita- 
tion. “ Only sometimes, you know, he gets so angry. Fancy, the 
other day — when we had the tableaux ” 

And Eline had to listen to the story of Paul’s anger when they 
had the tableaux, and of Paul’s cleverness in the grouping. 

“She’s not afraid to speak her mind, at all events,” thought 
Eline; “but then, she need not be exactly smitten, although she 
talks a great deal about him ; if she were she would probably do 
as I do, and — say nothing.” 

It was nearly half-past five ; the guests were leaving. 

“ Then I shall hear you sing together one day } ” insisted Cateau. 

“ Come round one Thursday afternoon ; we always practise then.” 

“ Oh ! then I am in school.” 

“ Well, one evening then, nous verronsP 

‘‘Yes, with pleasure — Eline.” 

She pronounced that name for the first time since Eline’s request, 
and she let it fall from her lips, much flattered at the familiarity. 
Then she took leave, urged thereto by her mother. 

Eline stood still for a moment, by accident, beside Frederique. 
She had already said good-bye, and was waiting for Betsy, who 
en passant was talking to Mr. Verstraeten, and she was on the 
point of saying something to Freddie. But she waited, until 
Freddie spoke first — and both remained silent. 

On her way home, Cateau in ecstasy poured all kinds of nice 
things about Eline and Paul into Madame van der Stoor’s ears. 

New Year’s Day had come and gone. On New Year’s Eve 
Betsy invited the Verstraetens and Erlevoorts, as well as Madame 
Van Raat and Paul, to an oyster supper, and a happy evening was 
spent in the warm comfort of her drawing-room. Now the winter 
clays followed each other in unbroken monotony, whilst the 
evenings glided on for Betsy and Eline in one long string of 


ELINE VERE. 


99 


dinner-parties and soirdes. The van Raats had a large circle of 
acquaintances, and Betsy was famous for her choice little dinners, 
never with more than twelve persons at the utmost, and always 
served with the most unstinted and refined luxury. They lived 
in a coterie, the various members of which saw one another often 
and intimately, and they were very pleased with the circle in which 
they moved. 

Eline, meanwhile, in the midst of that light glamour of world- 
liness continued to feed the flame of her secret love in silent 
happiness, and thought it all very romantic. One morning she 
had been shopping, and as she was returning along the Princesse- 
gracht, she saw Fabrice slowly coming from the Bosch, close by 
the Bridge. She felt her heart beating, and scarcely dared look 
up. Still, at last, with apparent indifference she just ventured to 
glance at him. He wore a short frieze overcoat ; a woollen muffler 
was thrown carelessly about his throat, and he walked, his hands 
in his pockets, with a somewhat surly expression on his dark face, 
shaded by the broad brim of his soft felt hat. He gave her the 
impression of haughty reserve, and this made her idealize. No 
doubt he was of a good family, for she thought there was something 
very distingud in his powerful frame ; his parents had been against 
his devoting himself to his art, but he had felt a calling within him 
that was irresistible ; he had received his musical training at a 
conservatoire, and he had made his ddbut. And now a bitter dis- 
appointment filled his soul ; he discovered that the surroundings 
of actors in which he had to move was too rude and uncultured 
for him ; he felt himself different from them, and he withdrew him- 
self within the coldness of his pride. He thought of his youth, of 
his childhood, and again he saw his mother before him, entreating 
him with clasped hands to bid farewell to his determination and 
think no more of the stage. 

From that day Eline was seized with the caprice, as Betsy called 
it, to take long walks in the morning. She thought the Bosch so 
beautiful in winter, she said ; it was grand to see those lofty upright 
stems, like pillars of marble, after the snow ; it was like a cathedral. 
Henk accompanied her once or twice with Leo and Faust, the two 
boarhounds, but he preferred his usual morning ride, and she went 
alone, after she had fetched the two dogs out of the stable. They 
sprang up at her with their big paws, and like two rough pages 
waited near her protectingly in their wild playfulness. 


ICX> 


ELINE VERE. 


It was good for her health, she declared, when people spoke to 
her wonderingly about those walks ; she walked much too little, and 
feared she would be growing as stout as Betsy, if she always rode. 
Doctor Reyer thought those morning promenades an excellent idea. 

In the Bosch she met occasional promenaders, mostly the same 
people — an old gentleman in a fur cloak, who was always coughing. 
But Fabrice she met but rarely. He was at rehearsal probably, 
she thought, whenever she did not see the baritone, and then 
she would return home in a disappointment that made her feel 
very fatigued, longing for her boudoir, her cosy fire, her piano. 
But still she continued her walks, and made the discovery that 
Fabrice took his constitutionals regularly on Fridays ; other days 
seemed to be very uncertain. She might and she might not see 
him. And in order to meet him she did not mind rising early, 
sometimes still quite exhausted after a soiree that had not been 
over till three o’clock ; or tired out with dancing, and sleepy, with 
blue circles under her weary eyes. ’Twas true she saw Fabrice 
very often now at the opera, from a box, or the stalls, when she 
went with the Verstraetens, or with Emilie deWoude and Georges ; 
once she had invited the Ferelyns. But yet, now she saw him quite 
differently, not separated from her by the footlights and the ideal 
conditions of the stage ; now she saw him right before her, not three 
paces removed from her, like an ordinary person. 

On the days that she met Fabrice, the roomy vault of the be- 
snowed trees seemed too small to contain her happiness. She saw 
him approach with his manly, elastic step, the hat slightly on one 
side, the muffler fluttering from his shoulder, and he passed by, 
just glancing at her or the dogs, who sniffed at him, with careless 
eyes. When, after that, she turned back and returned home 
along the Maliebaan, she was filled with a joy that made her 
bosom heave, that brought a flush to her cold cheeks, and made 
her forgetful of all fatigue ; and on arriving home she would 
give vent to that wealth of happiness with a jubilant outburst of 
song. The whole day she remained in a bright, happy humour, 
and a charming vivacity took the place of her usual languid grace. 
Her eyes sparkled, she joked and laughed continually, felt irritated 
at Henk’s lazy good-nature and Ben’s sleepy quietness, and teased 
both father and son, making the hall re-echo with her ringing 
laughter, and the stairs creak under her, as she almost bounded 
down them. 


ELINE VERE. 


lOI 


One Friday morning, when she saw Fabrice approaching her, 
she formed a resolution. She thought it very childish of her that 
she never had the courage to look him straight in the face. He 
was an actor, after all, and no doubt he was used to being looked 
at by ladies who met him in the street. He came nearer, and with 
something haughtily audacious, and almost defiantly, she threw her 
little head backwards, and looked him straight in the face. He 
returned that glance, as usual, with one of complete indifference, 
and walked on. Then, in an excess of courage, she looked back. 
Would he? No, he walked on, with his hands in his pockets, and 
she only saw his broad back gradually disappearing. 

That morning she hurried home, humming to herself between 
her closed lips, about which there hovered an expression of roguish 
playfulness. She had no thought for anything or any one but him, 
Fabrice, and she rang the bell at the Nassauplein, Crete answered 
the door ; Leo and Faust rushed inside. Oh, how she burst out 
laughing ! she had forgotten to take the dogs back to the stables. 
Loudly resounded their barking through the hall, like a duo of 
basses. 

Cut rushed Betsy from the dining-room, bursting with rage. 

“ Heavens above, Eline, are you mad, bringing those wretched 
dogs in here ? You know I can’t bear them. I can’t understand 
what makes you do such a thing, if I don’t like it ! Or am I no 
longer mistress in my own house ? Take them away, please, and 
at once.” 

Her voice sounded hard and rough, as one who is giving orders 
to an inferior. 

They are thirsty, and I want to let them drink,” said Eline, 
with calm hauteur. 

And I will not have them drink here, I tell you ! Look at that 
hall, look at the carpet, dirty marks everywhere ! ” 

Crete can clean all that in a minute.” 

That isn’t your business ! You lead the life of a princess here, 
and do nothing but what displeases me. I tell you, take those 
dirty dogs away ! ” 

“ First they must drink.” 

Creat heavens, I will tiot have them drink here,” cried Betsy, 
beside herself with passion. 

“ They shall drink, in the garden,” answered Eline, quietly. 

‘‘ I should like to see that ! ” shrieked her sister. “ If I ** 


102 


ELINE VERE. 


“ Leo, Faust,” cried Eline, still with an irritating composure, as 
she motioned the dogs towards her. 

Betsy fumed with rage ; her lips quivered, her hands shook, her 
breath seemed to choke her. She could not say another word, she 
felt she could have struck Eline; but Eline, followed by the leaping 
dogs, slowly went her way through the passage into the garden, 
and filled a pail full of water at the tap. She thought it an exquisite 
delight to enrage Betsy that day. The dogs drank their fill, and 
she led them back into the hall. 

Betsy still stood there, and her angry eyes flamed with rage at 
her own impotency. She would have liked to run after Eline and 
snatch the pail out of her hands, but her nerves were too excited. 

“ I tell you, Eline, in the name of all that’s holy, that I shall tell 
Henk,” she began, with a trembling voice, and a face flushed as 
red as fire. 

Oh, rave as much as you like!” cried Eline, in a suddenly 
rising passion, and went out of the house with the dogs, banging 
the door after her. 

In about a quarter of an hour she returned, singing, still full 
of happiness at meeting Fabrice. She went up-stairs, and burst 
out in a brilliant shake, as if to tease Betsy, who, nearly crying, 
was sitting in the dining-room. 

When Henk came home, Betsy told him the tale of Eline’s 
impudence in their own house ; but Henk grew impatient, would 
not come to any decision, and she reproached her husband with 
his timidity, and a violent scene followed. 

For a whole week the sisters did not speak, to the despair of 
Henk, who found all his domestic comfort spoilt by their sulking, 
especially at table, where the meals were hurried through, although 
Eline kept up an incessant chatter with himself and Ben. 


EUNE VERB. 


103 


CHAPTER XII. 

It had struck Fr^ddrique that last New Year’s Eve, at the van 
Raats’, Otto had chatted and laughed a good deal with Eline ; not 
remarkably so, but more than was his wont generally with girl?. 
For some days after that a question constantly rose to her lips which 
she wanted to ask her brother, but no opportunity seemed to arrive 
for her to put it. At times she was quite brusque towards Etienne, 
when he wanted to have a joke with her, and Lili, Marie, and Paul 
had come to the conclusion that she had lost something of her good 
temper ; and she played but little with the children too. 

It was one of their evenings at home ; only Etienne had gone out 
with some young friends who had come to fetch him. The children 
were in bed, and Madame van Erlevoort sat with Mathilde in the 
small drawing-room, the old lady with a book, Mathilde with 
some needlework. Freddrique entered, smiled at her mother, and 
lovingly smoothed the gray hair on her temples. 

Freddie, will you just ring for Willem?” asked Mathilde. “Otto 
would like a cup of tea in his room ; he is busy writing.” 

“ Oh, just pour him out a cup, I’ll take it him myself.” 

Mathilde poured out a cup, and Frdderique took it up-stairs. 
On the stairs she wondered whether she would have the courage ; 
perhaps Otto would say something himself ; but if he did not, she 
would venture. 

She entered Otto’s room. He was walking up and down 
dreamily, with his hands on his back, quite contrary to his usual 
habits. 

“ Hallo ! there’s a nice little sis,” said he laughing, and took the 
cup from her hand. “It will taste tenfold as nice from such pretty 
little fingers.” 

“ But, Otto,” cried Frdd^rique, “how can you be so silly? I had 
expected a more original kind of compliment, not such a stale 
platitude as that.” 

She continued to look at him smilingly, but did not catch his 
reply, as she was considering to herself how to put her question. 
Perhaps he would not like it. Still she wanted to have her say, 
and she tried to find something by way of introduction, some 
pretext or another, to achieve her object ; but in the frankness of 

8 


104 


ELINE VERE. 


her nature she could find nothing, and so she simply com- 
menced — 

“ Otto, I— I have something to say to you, something to confess.” 

“A sin ?” 

‘‘ A sin, no ; hardly that I think — an— indiscretion I unwittingly 
committed towards you. But you must forgive me beforehand.” 

“ What ! simply on your good faith I” 

** I tell you the indiscretion was committed involuntarily, and — 
I haven’t even been as indiscreet as I should have liked to have been. 

I am therefore entitled to some recompense ; but I only ask you 
beforehand, whether I may depend upon your pardon ?” 

All right ; I shall be merciful ; say on then.” 

“You will really not be angry?” 

“No, no. What is it?” 

Quite by accident — I discovered — you see — I know who, last 
St. Nicholas’ Eve ” 

He turned a little pale, whilst he stared at her, full of eager 
expectation. It did not escape her with how much concentrated 
attention he was listening. 

“ Gave — that fan — to Eline — that fan by Bucchi.” 

She remained standing right in front of him, something like a 
naughty child, quite confused at her confession. He continued 
looking at her, a little frightened, with big, staring eyes. 

“ Do you know ?” he commenced, stammering. 

“Now don’t be angry,” she resumed. “ I really could not help 
it. I came into your room one morning, I wanted a piece of 
sealing-wax, and — you have never forbidden me to come into your 
room, have you ? — I knocked, but you had gone out ; and when I 
entered and began to look for the sealing-wax, I saw in that pigeon- 
hole the leather case, which I recognized at once in the evening. 
I thought at first it was something for me, and wanted — wanted to 
open it ; you know how inquisitive I am ; but I did not do so, and 
I was very sorry that I discovered your present. Tell me, now, are 
you angry ? I couldn’t really help it, could I now ? ” 

“Angry, my dear old girl! ’Tis nothing to be angry about at 
all,” he answered, with forced lightness. “A surprise gift cannot 
last for ever ; and besides— you haven’t told Eline, of course, have 
you ? ” 

“ Gh no ; of course not.” 

“Well, what of it then? There’s no harm done,” he said 


ELINE VERE. 


105 


carelessly. Or are you sorry that the fan was not intended for 
yourself?” 

She gave a contemptuous shrug. “ I am surprised that you 
should think me so childish. Only ” 

“ Well, what?” 

She gave him a searching glance with those clear, true eyes, and 
he felt a little abashed under that penetrating scrutiny. 

“ Only — a young man — does not usually — make such presents — 
to a girl, if he is not very fond of her.” 

“Oh, I like Eline very much ; why should I not give her some- 
thing for St. Nicholas ?” 

“ No, Otto, you are not frank with me,” she said impatiently, 
and drew him with her on the sofa. “ Come, sit down, and just 
listen to me. A sensible fellow like yourself doesn’t give a fan, 
,of I don’t know how much value, to a girl, if — if he is not in love 
!with her. That you need not try to make me believe ; you never 
gave Eline anything before, neither did you give Lili or Marie 
anything this time. So, you see, I am not so blind; I can see well 
enough that there’s more in it,” she continued, and laid her hands 
on his shoulders. But all at once she stopped. “Oh, perhaps 
you think — perhaps you don’t want me to speak to you about it,” 
she stammered, almost frightened. 

“Freddie, on the contrary,” he said softly, and drew her closer 
towards him, “I am very glad to speak to you about — about 
Eline. Why not ? But suppose, now, that I really cared much, 
very much for Eline, would you think it so unwise in me ? ” he 
asked smilingly. 

“ Oh, Eline is no girl for you ! ” she suddenly burst out in passionate 
fervour. “ No, Otto, no ; Eline is not the kind of girl for you. 
She is very pretty, I know, and there is something about her — some- 
thinj very attractive— but to me she is — antipathetic, I assure you. 
Believe me, you must really not think any more of her, you would 
never be happy with her; you are so affectionate and good. If 
you really w^ere to begin caring for her very much, you would per- 
haps devote your whole soul to her, you would want to live only 
for her, and she could not return you one-tenth of what you gave 
her. She has no heart, she is cold as ice, and full of egotism — 
nothing but egotism.” 

“ But, Freddie, Freddie,” he interrupted, “my dear girl, how you 
rush on ! Where have you obtained all your experience of human 


io6 


ELINE VERE. 


nature, that you can give me such a precise description of Eline’s 
character?” 

It irritated her to hear how softly, almost caressingly, he pro- 
nounced her name. 

Knowledge of human nature ? I know nothing about that. 
I only know what I feel, and that is, that Eline lives but for herself, 
and is incapable of making the slightest sacrifice for another. I 
feel — nay, I declare, I am convinced of it — that if you married Eline, 
you would never, never be happy. She might like you for a time, 
but her love would only be egotism, as everything in her is egotism.’’ 

‘^Freddie, you are severe,” he said, softly but reproachfully. 

’ Tis very nice of you to feel so much for me, but you are very, 
very hard on Eline. I don’t think you know her, and, on the con- 
trary, I believe that she would sacrifice herself altogether for one 
she loved.” 

You say I don’t know her ; but how can you know her then ? 
You only see her when she is all smiles and amiability.” 

“ Do you think it a fault in her, that she prefers to be amiable 
rather than discourteous ? ” 

Frdddrique gave a sigh. “ Oh, Otto, I — I don’t know what I think ; 
I only feel that you cannot be happy with her,” she said, in a tone 
of conviction. 

He took her hand and smiled. “ Why, you speak as though we 
were going to be married to-morrow.” * 

“ Oh, do — do tell me — don’t think me — inquisitive. You haven’t — 
proposed to her, have you ? ” 

He looked at her, still smiling, and slowly shook his head. 

Then promise me, will you, that you will take time to think 

over it t — don’t be ” She clung to him affectionately, and her 

eyes filled with tears. 

You are a dear girl, Freddie, but really ” 

You think it absurd of me, perhaps, to venture to advise you ?” 

“Not at all. On the contrary, I am most sincerely grateful to 
you for it ; but still, you must not allow yourself to be guided by 
a mere idea, or rather an antipathy, for which there is not even 
a reason, and to judge another person so harshly. Accept and follow 
that advice, then 1 shall not think you absurd, but a dear, dear 
little sis.” 

He kissed her repeatedly, and she rested her head shyly on his 
shoulder. 


ELINE VERE. 


107 

“You won’t be angry with me, will you now? Perhaps I have 
been clumsy ; I should not have spoken like that.” 

“ To me you are most dear when you are most outspoken to me, 
and I hope you will always be so.” 

“ Then perhaps I shall be discourteous and unamiable” she 
answered with emphasis. 

“ And now you are just a little spiteful. What is it ? Are you 
jealous of Eline ?” 

“ Yes,” she answered curtly. 

“ Because of the fan, I suppose,” he laughed. 

“Oh, you do tease me,” she pouted. “No; not because of 
the fan, I have a dozen of them, but because — because you care 
for her.’^ 

“ Let us make a compact together then. You go and find 
me a nice girl whom you consider fit to be my wife, and of whom 
you are not jealous ; then when you have found her, and I like 
her, I shall think no more of Eline. What do you say to that ? ” 

She answered nothing, but rose, and wiped away her tears. His 
badinage displeased her, and made her fear that he thought her 
foolish. She approached the table, pointed to the cup of tea, and 
said — 

“ Your tea is getting cold, Otto ; why don’t you drink it ?” 

Ere he could reply, she had gone, full of conflicting thoughts, 
pleased that she had given vent to her feelings, and had obtained 
Otto’s confidence ; and yet uncertain whether she would not have 
done better to have said nothing. 

For five days Eline had not met Fabrice on her early walks, and 
the disappointment of the mornings spoilt the whole of the days 
that followed. At first she grew quiet, morose, and irritable ; very 
soon she became more melancholy, she sang no more, she refused 
to see Roberts, her master, or to accompany Paul van Raat in his 
duets. One morning, after her walk, about half-past ten, she 
returned home, and threw herself musingly on her sofa, while, 
with wandering fingers, she unclasped her cloak. She could not 
bear Ben near her, and sent him away to the nursemaid; and 
thoroughly tired out, with her big, hazel eyes moist and glistening 
with unsatisfied longing, she let her glance wander along the 
palms, the pictures, the group by Canova. A melancholy op- 
pressiveness fell upon her like a cloud, and she asked herself the 


io8 


ELINE VERE. 


question, Why must she live, if she were not to be happy ? To' 
give her sorrow a definite shape, she searched about for grievances, 
and made the most of them ; she was in need of affection, and 
there was no one to love her. With Betsy she could get on no 
longer, as it seemed ; she was continually at variance with her 
sister, and it was not always her fault ; Frdddrique was con- 
spicuously cool towards her, for what reason she had not the 
remotest idea. It was only old Madame van Raat who continued 
affectionate as ever ; but just at present she felt but little in the 
humour to display that amiable frankness, tempered with a flavour 
of veneration, which had won the old lady’s heart. Yes ; her 
life was a useless existence, she was continually swinging from 
one day to another, without any object, and she longed for — 
for something like the vague vision, without definite shape, which 
seemed to rise as in a sphere of love, sometimes purely ideal, 
like an idyll, sometimes simpler in form and suffused with a halo 
of homeliness and domestic happiness. 

She sighed as she raised her hand towards the azalea, and 
crumpled the leaves between her nervous fingers. With an effort 
she compelled her musings to assume some definite form before 
her mental vision, and by a sudden caprice of her fantasy, she 
saw herself together with Fabrice, and both of them were singing 
at the opera in some great city. They loved one another, and 
they were famous ; they were overwhelmed with wreaths and 
bouquets, and the whole vision rose before her vivid and entrancing, 
as it had done one day whilst she was singing with Paul. 

But her imagination not receiving any fresh fuel, not having 
seen Fabrice for so long, lost its vivid colouring; her vision faded, 
and left her in a gray, sombre mood — a seeming reflex of the sky 
outside, which was heavy with dark rain-clouds. She felt the hot 
tears glide along her lashes ; she had a great longing for Henk, 
to whom she was anxious to confide her sorrow, he was so fond of 
her, and knew how to administer such comforting words to her 
in his own kindly, clumsy way ; the mere sound of his voice alone, 
so kindly, so genial, and heavy, fell like a healing balm upon her 
soul. 

And so she sat sobbing, and thought how disagreeable all that 
sulking with Betsy was. To-morrow it would be her, Eline’s, birth- 
day. Would Betsy take the first step towards a reconciliation, or 
did the cause of the quarrel really rest with herself.? Had she 


ELINE VERE. 


109 


felt sure of her reception by her sister, she would gladly have 
ventured a rapprochement^ or even have apologized, if necessary ; 
but she feared Betsy’s coolness. So she would wait; yes, she 
would wait. 

The afternoon passed slowly, the hours dragged themselves 
along, as though weary under the burden of her melancholy. 
Then she dressed for a dinner-party at the Hydrechts’, without the 
slightest expectation of finding any amusement there. She would 
gladly have asked Betsy to say that she was ill at home ; but it 
would not do. Unlike the Verstraetens recently, the Hydrechts 
might take offence, and besides, Betsy might perhaps refuse to 
do as she asked. So she went, and screwed herself up to a 
coquettish gaiety which, with her natural tact in hiding her feelings, 
effectually blinded the eyes of all. 

The next day was the twentieth of January, her birthday. She 
stayed late in bed, surrounded by the warmth of the blankets, in 
the soft red light reflected by the curtains, without any desire to 
rise, or any longing for her morning walk. She would not 
see him if she went, her presentiment told her. She began to 
feel childishly superstitious. It was now close upon nine. If Mina 
should come in before the clock struck nine, to arrange her 
washstand for her, she would meet Fabrice in the Bosch to-morrow. 
But Mina came after nine, and when the girl had put everything 
straight and had left the room, she thought of something fresh. 
If last evening she had laid her bracelet in the large vase she 
would meet Fabrice ; not^ if she had placed it in the small one ; and 
she raised herself up, drew the red damask bed-curtains aside, 
and glanced round. There lay the bracelet in the large vase. 
With a smile, she once more lay back in the pillows. 

She struggled with herself to get up, but why not stay in bed in 
the cosy warmth ? She was weary with grief, why commence another 
day ? Ere long her friends would come to congratulate her ; 
she would have to be nice and amiable, and receive their presents 
with delighted ecstasy, and she was in a far from amiable humour ; 
she felt no desire to see any one. 

It struck half-past ten, and she thought perhaps Betsy would 
soon be coming in, and in a few friendly words make up the 
quarrel; she listened for her sister’s step on the stairs, but her 
expectations were in vain, and at last, unnerved by her languor, 


no 


ELINE VERE. 


she rose, and lazily proceeded to dress. The glass reflected her 
image with something of sadness in the eyes and a weary ex-, 
pression about the mouth, and to herself she seemed quite ugly.^ 
But what did it matter after all ? for whose sake should she be 
pretty? There was no one who loved her with such fervour as 
she thought that her heart was capable of. - j 

She was dressed, and all at once a shivering overtook her. She 
did not feel equal to going down-stairs ; how should she approach 
Betsy ? Should she take up an attitude of expectation merely ? 
Why did not Betsy meet her half-way ? Why must she continue 
bearing a grudge like that, about such a trifling matter? Eline 
felt almost afraid to see Betsy in the breakfast-room, and she 
walked into her boudoir, where the fire was already burning 
brightly, and threw herself on her sofa, wretched and weary with 
grief and loneliness. Why, yes, why did she live ? 

Deeper and deeper she sank into the abyss of melancholy, when 
at last some glimmer of light came to pierce the gloom that en- 
shrouded her, for she heard Henk and Ben coming up the stairs. 
They came nearer ; she heard their voices ; there was a noisy 
knocking at her door. 

Where are you, old girl; still in bed?” cried Henk. 

“ No ; I am here, in my boudoir,” she answered, slightly raising 
her voice. 

The door was opened and Henk appeared, shaking his head, 
while Ben slipped through between his father’s high riding-boots, 
a bouquet clasped in his little fists. 

Auntie, many happy returns of your birthday — and this is 
from Ben,” said the child, as though he were repeating a lesson 
learnt by heart, while he laid the bouquet in her lap. 

‘‘But, my dear girl, what a time you are up-stairs this morning ! 
you are generally back from your walk by now,” cried Henk. 

She did not answer, but embraced the child, and her eyes grew 
moist as she did so. 

“Put— put it in water, Ben, will you? in some tepid water. 
There, in the vase, carefully.” 

Ben, always obedient and docile, did as he was told. Eline fell 
back again in the pillows, and looked at her brother-in-law with a 
faint smile. 

“ I feel so wretched to-day— not well at all,” she said languidly. 

Henk approached nearer, with his hands on his back. 


ELINE VERE. 


Ill 


“What, on your birthday too?” he asked cheerily. “Come, 
I would make haste and get down-stairs if I were you, you lazy girl ; 
but let me give you a good kiss first — a real good one, do you 
hear ? ” and he pressed his lips on both her cheeks, while she lay 
still and smiled. 

“ And here is a trifle for you, Elly — I hope you will like it,” he 
continued, as he handed her a small case. 

She laughed a little. 

** How droll of you to come and bring me my present here ! 
Thank you, Henk, thanks very much.” 

She opened the case ; in it there was a hairpin in the shape of a 
diamond spider. 

“But, Henk,” she cried, “how you spoil me I I remember, 
when I saw it at van Kempen’s a little while ago, I said I thought 
it very pretty. I really must be careful what I say in future,” she 
said, almost shyly, and she thought of the Bucchi fan. 

“Betsy kept her ears open when she heard you speak about 
the pin,” he answered. “ We are always glad to give you something 
that will please you.*’ 

This almost aggravated her, but she threw her arms round his 
neck and kissed him. 

“ Really, really, you are spoiling me,” she stammered. 

“ Come, come, that’s all rubbish ! ” he exclaimed. “ But now I 
must be off for a little ride ; so make haste down-stairs, old girl, or 
I shall carry you down.” 

“ N o, no, that you won’t ! ” 

“ All right then ; but hurry up.” 

“ Yes, yes, in a moment ; but no nonsense, Henk, do you hear?” 
she cried, frightened, and in a serious, commanding tone, for she 
could foresee an attack of practical joking, and she certainly felt in 
no humour to tolerate it. 

He laughingly re-assured her. The words were on his lips to 
ur<Te her to a reconciliation with his wife, but he feared he had not 
the tact to approach the subject with sufficient caution. She might 
fly up in a passion, and besides — it would all come right soon, 
he thought, and left the room. 

She rose, and lingering over her toilet, suspected that Betsy 
must have told Henk to take the present up-stairs, so as not to 
have to' hand it her herself. She felt embarrassed at her own 
attitude ; now she was compelled to take the first step towards a 


II2 


ELINE VERE. 


reconciliation, and this wounded her pride. It would seem as 
though she were so delighted with their present, that it made up 
for all past unpleasantness. ’Twas most tiresome, but still she 
could not now come down-stairs, and, after a hasty, cool greet- 
ing, commence her breakfast without saying a word. She felt very 
sorry that she had not followed her impulse of the previous day to 
try a rapproche7nenL After all it was really too stupid, that sulking, 
and only because of those dogs ! And she held the diamond spider 
coquettishly against her hair and her throat. 

Before she came down-stairs, Eline opened a drawer of her 
writing-desk. With a furtive smile she took from it an album, a 
present to herself, and opened it. It contained nothing but portraits 
of Fabrice, in various positions and dresses, and which for some 
time past she had been purchasing with much tact, but still not 
without nervousness ; now in one shop, then in another, never re- 
turning to the same, constantly fearing that the shopkeeper would 
guess something of her secret. On one occasion she had been 
in Amsterdam for a day to visit some friends ; there she was 
very daring, and in a bookshop had bought seven all at once ; 
no one knew her there, and she vowed to herself that she would 
never again set foot in the shop. 

With her eyes sparkling with wanton playfulness she glanced 
through her collection, and whatever page she turned his dark 
black-bearded face met her eyes now and again as she had met 
him in the Bosch with his big felt and his muffler. Ah ! she knew 
it now ; it was tenderer feeling than admiration that vibrated 
through her at the sight, which, in her womanly sense of honour 
and in shame at herself, made her shudder as for a moment she 
pressed her lips on that beloved image. Yes, she felt it now ; it was 
a passion that filled her being as with a wealth of rapture ; a love 
for which she could sacrifice all and anything that he might demand 
of her. 

And her imagination, a little relieved of its burden of melancholy 
by Henk’s cheery words, in which she sometimes heard the echo of 
long-vanished wishes, grew heated with romantic ideas. In her 
flight with Fabrice, she saw herself at a railway station awaiting 
the train, and fearing lest they would be overtaken. 

“ Auntie, auntie, let me in ! ” cried Ben, outside the door. 

She put the album away and opened the door. Ben came in, 


ELINE VERE. II3 

cautiously clasping the vase full of water in both his little 
hands. 

“ Carefully, little man,” said Eline. “ Sure you haven’t spilt any 
on the stairs ? ” 

He shook his head, pleased with himself at his smartness. Whilst 
he placed the bouquet in the vase, Eline reflected that the little 
fellow’s present was only another attention on Betsy’s part. It was 
a great bother after all. 

But at last she summed up courage and proceeded down-stairs with 
Ben. Betsy was in the dining-room, and in consultation with Crete. 

‘‘ Good morning, Betsy,” said Eline. 

Good morning, Elly. Many happy returns ! ” answered Betsy, 
without any expression. 

Eline would not say more ; first the servant must leave the room. 
Breakfast she did not want ; she had no appetite. 

“ Crete, you can clear away, I don’t want anything,” she said, 
and began playing with Ben to do something. 

Betsy remained seated in front of her writing-desk, absorbed in 
bills and books, like a careful housewife. And after a few seconds’ 
painful silence, Betsy having peevishly told Ben not to worry, and 
sent him away to the nursery, Eline rose. She walked across the 
room to her sister, and laid her hand on her shoulder. 

“ Betsy,” she commenced. But she could not yet bring herself 
to say anything about the present, the diamond spider. Betsy, 
come, would it not be better if — ? You don’t know how sorry I am 
that we are so. Come, now, don’t be angry with me, it was wrong 
of me.” 

“ Well, Eline, I am glad you admit it. I am not angry.” 

Is it all forgotten then ?” 

Oh, certainly. You know there’ s nothing I dislike more than 
unpleasantness, so let us say no more about it.” 

Her cool tone was as so much ice to Eline, but still she bent 
down and gave Betsy a kiss. 

“ N o, really, I am sorry ; of course I have no right in your own 
house — it pains me very much.” 

She wanted to say something more, but could find no words, 
and once more her lips sought Betsy’s forehead. She, however, 
pushed her lightly aside. 

“All right ; let us say no more about it then. I am no more 
angry. But not so much kissing, you know I don’t care about it.” 


ELINE VERE. 


II4 

Her birthday passed by gloomily enough for Eline. The recon- 
ciliation with Betsy had not made the desired impression on her ; 
she had pictured something much more cordial — a sisterly embrace, 
an intermingling of tears — the prelude to future affectionate inter- 
course with each other. But what had been the reality? On 
Betsy’s part an icy condescension, by the side of which she, in 
her attitude, had cut a somewhat sorry figure. She knew herself 
to be weaker than her sister, and yet she would resist her over- 
ruling : but with every attempt at opposition, and especially after 
this latest one, followed as it was by a temporary, hollow victory, 
she felt herself more and more powerless to continue the struggle 
with such unequal moral weapons. Her pride had only proved a 
frail reed, breaking with every gust of wind, and in her dismay a 
hopeless gloom seemed to enshroud her thoughts as with a thick 
veil of crape. 

For all that she kept up a semblance of gaiety that afternoon in 
the midst of the cheery company of the friends who came to con- 
gratulate her. But Madame van Raat, from whose dreamy, light- 
blue eyes she would have been so glad to have seen a ray of 
sympathy beam upon her, was indisposed, and sent an apology 
through Paul, and this was a great disappointment to her. Madame 
van Erlevoort and Mathilde came to add the excuses of Freddie, 
who was at home with a cold, and again Eline wondered why 
Frdderique should be so reserved towards her. Jeanne Ferelyn 
overwhelmed her with a string of domestic troubles, and it required 
all her tact and amiability not to display any undue impatience in 
listening to them. Little Gateau van der Stoor, who, like Madame 
Van Raat, she would have been glad to see, appeared to have for- 
gotten her birthday ; she neither saw nor heard anything of her. 
But Emilie de Woude brought her own boisterous gaiety with her. 
Her lively chat infused a little brightness into the dull atmosphere 
of the drawing-room — in which the gas was not yet lit — into which, 
along the heavy folds of the draperies, a darkening twilight pene- 
trated which seemed to transform the brightness of the gilded 
panelling, and the glistening sheen of the fawn-satin cushions, into 
undefined and gloomy shadows. Emilie wanted to see Eline’s 
presents, charming trifles — a few bouquets arranged on a table, 
round about a big basket full of flowers and fruit. 

What a splendid cried Emilie. Peaches, grapes, 

roses — lovely ! From whom, Elly?” 


ELINE VERE. 


IIS 

“ From Vincent ; pretty, is it not?” 

I wish I had such nice cousins.” 

** Hush ! ” whispered Eline. 

Vincent had just entered the room, and his eyes went in search 
of the hostess. Betsy received him, as usual, with a certain warmth 
and geniality in her constant, vague fear of what that cousin might 
do. Eline thanked him, and clasped both his hands in hers. 

Vincent apologized for coming so late ; it was a quarter past five, 
and the Verstraetens and the others were taking their leave in the 
gathering twilight, after Avhich Gerard came in to light the gas, 
close the blinds, and draw the curtains. 

“Vincent, stay to dinner, will you?” asked Betsy. For Betsy 
was in terror at having to face a dull evening. They were not 
invited out anywhere, and besides, she had not thought it the thing 
to make any arrangements to go out on her sister’s birthday; 
neither could she have done so, as during their late feud she had 
scarcely uttered a word to her. With Vincent she need stand on 
no ceremony, she could very well ask him half an hour before 
dinner. Vincent had conversation when he was in a good humour, 
and, at all events, he brought a fresh face with him to the table. 

Vincent accepted the invitation with an indifferent “with pleasure.” 
In the meantime Henk declared he wanted a walk, and taking his 
hat quickly left the house, his coat-collar turned up, and his hands 
in his pockets. Anne, the nursemaid, came to fetch Ben, to make 
him a little tidy, as his face was besmeared with jam from the 
pastry he had been eating. Betsy disappeared too, and Eline and 
Vincent were left alone in the drawing-room, now bright with gas- 
light. 

“ Come, let us sit down in the boudoir,” said Eline, and Vincent 
followed her to the little room. The soft, clear beams from the 
small crystal chandelier, reflected on the violet plush of the furniture, 
lent the place an air of something mysteriously intimate, something 
that seemed to tempt to an unreserved confidence. To Vincent, 
however, it appeared to convey no sense other than one of a calm 
well-being ; with a sigh he let himself fall on the couch with his 
usual languor, and put Eline a number of indifferent questions 
about the acquaintances he had just now seen taking their leave. 
Whilst answering him, she felt a great sympathy for her cousin 
arise within her. Again it was that need within her that had 
aroused such a passion for Fabrice, the need she felt of much 


ii6 


ELINE VERE. 


love and tenderness, the longing to expend the pent-up treasures 
of her affection. And just as it had struck Paul by the wan re- 
flection of a petroleum-lamp, so it now struck her under the bright 
gas-light that played and sparkled in a thousand colours through 
the drooping pendants. Vincent’s resemblance to her dear dead 
father was so striking that, looking at him, she almost fancied her- 
self once more back in her childhood. Yes, just like that, with 
that pained expression about the mouth, with those eyes full of 
sadness, her father used to lie dov;n, exhausted by his artistic 
visions ; just like that his hand used to hang over the arm of his 
chair when the brush had fallen from his grasp. 

And Eline’s sympathy for Vincent grew stronger, permeated with 
compassion and poetic melancholy, as she sat listening to his low, 
wan, murmuring voice, while he spoke to her about Smyrna; he 
seemed more interesting than most of the young men in their 
coterie. To her he became a martyr to the littleness of the world, 
when he told her that to him the Hague was kleinstdttig and tire- 
some, and that he longed for much space and freedom. So 
did she. 

“But I weary you with my complaints, autre chose,’' he 
interrupted himself in an altered tone. “ It isn’t polite of me to talk 
so much about myself.” 

“ Oh no, not at all ; you don’t weary me in the least,” she 
answered somewhat hurriedly, rather upset that he had cut the 
thread of her fantasy so abruptly. “ Don’t you think that I can 
quite share your thoughts, that I don’t understand how you can 
wish for anything else than the prosy groove in which we continue 
to go round and round? Sometimes I, too, would gladly escape 
from it,” she cried, with a movement of her arms like that of a 
captive bird beating his wings against his cage. “ Sometimes I 
feel myself moved to some terribly mad freak or another,” and she 
smiled slyly as she thought of Fabrice. 

He, also smiling, shook his head, and just touched her uplifted 
hand, as it fell gracefully by her side. 

“ And why should you wish to commit follies now ? ” he asked. 
“You go to extremes. To live independently of any one, not to 
trouble yourself about the small-talk of a coterie, but to follow 
your own ideas as long as they are sensible, to change your 
surroundings as often as you like — that is my ideal. There’s 
nothing preserves one’s youth so much as change.” 


ELINE VERE. 


II7 

‘‘But in order to be independent, to trouble oneself about 
nothing — one must possess more moral strength than we in our 
superculture usually dare show,” she answered. 

“ Moral strength ! Oh dear, no ; you only want the money, that’s 
all,” he replied briefly. “ If I am rich, have good manners, 
commit no follies, but manage to keep myself nice and agreeable 
in the eyes of the world, it is quite in my power to see my ideal 
realized, without any one accusing me of anything more than perhaps 
— a little eccentricity.” 

All this was much too sober to her way of thinking, and she 
urged forward her own ideas, which seemed to her more romantic. 

“Yes, all right, money, of course,” she resumed, avoiding his 
argument with true feminine weakness ; “ but without sufficient 
strength to force through one’s own will, one would soon be carried 
away by all the old habits. You see, that is why ” — be laughed 
at her charming want of logic — “ that is why I should so much 
like to do something — foolish — something terribly foolish. I feel 
myself strong enough to go my own way in spite of the world. I 
sometimes feel very desperate indeed.” 

He enjoyed the fire and animation that beamed from her glisten- 
ing eyes, and her whole elegant little figure, as she sat there in her 
giddy coquettishness, gave him the impression of a butterfly just 
about to flutter away. 

“But, Eline!”he cried laughing. “What is it you are taking 
into your head now ? What is it you would like to do then, what 
sort of follies? Come, just confess, you naughty child.” 

She laughed too. 

“ Oh, say elope ! ” 

“With me?” 

“ Why not ? But I think you would soon leave me to my fate. 
I should be rather too expensive a luxury to you, and you would 
send me back with many thanks. Merci bie7i then, if your question 
was intended for an invitation ; I would rather wait for a wealthy 
milord.” 

“No love in a cottage then ? ” 

“ Oh, Vincent, how stale ! Jamais 1 I should die of e7mui. I had 
rather be an actress, and run away with an actor.” 

And she was all a-sparkle with sheer wantonness of exuberance ; 
she felt a secret enjoyment at the thought of Fabrice, and looked 
Vincent boldly in the eyes ; he could not guess her thoughts. 


Ii8 


ELINE VERE. 


He burst out in laughter ; the lively playfulness which had taken 
the place of her languid grace during their conversation, the 
brightness in her eyes, and the tapping of her little hand on her 
knee, amused him even more than her words, and yet they were 
sympathetic enough with his own ideas ; in them there lurked a 
longing for change, which was very much like his own. They 
looked at one another smilingly, and under the soft but concen- 
trated glance of his eyes, Eline felt something of the slow, 
ensnaring fascination of that of a serpent. 

‘‘What a striking resemblance to my dear papa,’^ she thought, 
almost surprised at the sympathy she felt for Vincent, as they rose 
at the sound of the dinner-belL 


CHAPTER XIII. 

Madame Y erstraeten was at home with Lili, who had caught 
a severe cold, while Marie and Fr^ddrique, skates in hand, 
accompanied Paul and Etienne to the Ysclub, round by the Laan 
van Meerdervoort. The old gentleman sat reading in the warm 
conservatory, in the midst of the glossy green foliage of the 
azaleas and the palms. Lili was not in her usual good humour ; 
she answered her mother in languid monosyllables, and nearly 
suffocated herself, trying to repress her coughing. For she was 
better, she had declared, and coughed no more ; it would do her 
no good to stay at home any longer, and she would go out in a 
day or two. 

And yet, notwithstanding that determination, out yonder it 
seemed to her like Siberia, when she saw the frozen snow lying 
hard and white on the bare branches and on the unsoiled marble- 
like paths. Madame Verstraeten continued her crochet work, 
and the deft movements of the crochet needle irritated Lili, just 
as the regular turning of the pages of her father’s book irritated 
her. She herself did nothing, and her hands lay wearily in her 
lap, but however much she enjoyed such a dolce far niente at 
other times, now it wearied her terribly, and yet she felt no desire 
for any occupation. Secretly she envied F reddie and Marie’s good 
health and spirits, while she was delicate and was obliged to guard 


ELINE VERE. 


II9 

against the slightest "“draught. But when her sister hesitated to 
accompany Freddie and Etienne, she herself had induced her to 
go and fetch her skates ; Marie could not always stay at home 
with her if she were foolish enough to be ill, and besides, mamma 
would keep her company. 

A sigh escaped her lips as she took a lozenge from the little box 
before her, and the old lady looked at her furtively, well knowing 
that in her present excitable mood any show of motherly anxiety 
on her part would irritate Lili more than the utmost indifference. 

So the afternoon slowly passed under Lili’s quiet pouting, and 
no one came to disturb the dull peacefulness that prevailed until 
past four, when the bell rang and Dien showed Georges de Woude 
inside. Lili felt annoyed ; Dien might have announced him first, 
she thought. Surely he was not so intimate with them as all that ! 
And while Madame Verstraeten gave him her hand, she greeted 
him somewhat coolly, slowly reaching her little white fingers 
towards him — slowly too, following, when her mother conducted 
him to the conservatory, to the old gentleman. Her parents were 
already sitting down with him, when she languidly pushed up a 
cane-chair, and as languidly sat do^\m in it, as though to show him 
that his visit disturbed her, and that she joined them merely for 
courtesy’s sake. 

At the first fpw words he addressed to her parents she looked 
away with somewhat affected absent-mindedness into the garden, 
as though she took no interest in their conversation. Madame 
Verstraeten had commenced with a question about Berlin, where he 
had been attached to the Legation for three months, but he replied 
rather briefly ; half addressing himself to Lili, and by turns looking 
at her and her mother, he inquired after her health ; had she really 
been seriously ill? Lili muttered something, whilst her mother 
replied ; but it struck her that he asked the question with a certain 
anxiety, not as a mere commonplace, as if indeed he felt an 
interest in her welfare. What could it matter to him whether she 
was ill or not ? But he did not seem to remark her coolness, when, 
seeing the subject was not attractive to her, he again turned his 
easy flowing conversation to Berlin, and in his agreeable manner 
replied to her parents’ questions. Each time he looked at her, 
as if to draw her into the conversation, and out of courtesy she 
now and again smiled a little, and asked some trifling question, as 
indifferently as possible. 

9 


120 


ELINE VERE. 


How he rattled on, she thought, as she had thought before, 
when he once began to talk ; but still, it was as though that 
thought was rather a forced one, and not entirely spontaneous. 
He rattled, it was true ; but there was something pleasant and 
sociable in his chat — something that, whether she admitted it or 
not, entertained her after the tiresome afternoon she had spent by 
the side of her knitting mother. He did not talk badly, a little 
excited, but tiresome he was not, and — it seemed as though she 
had never before remarked it — he was not so terribly affected after 
all. His accent was perhaps a little too studied, but that was all ; his 
gestures were simple, and through his easy manner there shone an 
evident sincerity whenever he turned to her. And his dress, it 
was faultlessly neat, perhaps too much so ; still it was not that of a 
coxcomb, she must admit it was simple enough. 

He chatted on as Mr. Verstraeten asked him about his engage- 
ments, and whilst she looked at him, she unconsciously smiled at 
him with more cordiality. It did not escape him, and once more 
he ventured to ask her, did she feel better now, did she not go out 
yet? What could it matter to him? again she thought, almost 
annoyed ; he had asked her once out of politeness, that was more 
than sufficient, but still she answered him, and told him her cough 
was better — a little cough quickly belied her words — and that she 
was feeling much easier under the kindly care of mamma and Marie. 
He felt grateful for those words, but he had heard the suppressed 
cough, and it was on his lips to caution her to be careful — the 
weather was so bleak — but he did not do so ; she might think it 
was no business of his, and he asked after Marie. 

Oh yes,’’ answered Lili ; “she has gone skating with Fr^d^rique 
and Etienne van Erlevoort and with Paul. Don’t you pity me that 
I have to stay at home again, like the sick child ? ” 

** Are you so very sorry that you could not go ? Are you fond of 
skating ? ” t 

** Yes ; that is to say, I like it very much ; but speaking frankly, I 
don’t know much about it. Marie and Freddie skate much better 
than I ; they go curling and twisting about while I can only just 

amble along ; I am too frightened, you know, and ” 

But do not Paul or Etienne assist you then ? ” 

** Oh, Paul says frankly that he thinks it tiresome to skate with 
such a duffer, and Etienne— yes, I must admit— he will sacrifice 
himself for five minutes sometimes.” 


ELINE VERB. 


I2I 


But, Lili,” said Madame Verstraeten, if you cannot skate, it 
is certainly tiresome to them.” 

** I was more polite in my time,” said the old gentleman. 

“ Oh, I make them no reproaches,” said Lili ; “ I am only telling 
you the facts,” and she gave a little cough. 

** But, when you are better, when you are going out again,” 
resumed Georges hesitating — he knew he was making a bold 
plunge — ‘‘may I now and then offer you my assistance ? I am 
mostly at my office, ’tis true, but still ” 

: “You skate, then ?” cried Lili. She would never have thought it 
of him. 

“ I am passionately fond of it ! ” he declared. “ Do you 
accept ? ” 

I She nearly blushed, and answered, smiling, with downcast eyes — • 
: “ Oh, with pleasure, yes. But you will have such a trouble with 

me. I am so frightened ; I always fancy I hear the ice crack, 
you see — you don’t know what you are offering me.” 

“ Oh yes,” he answered ; “ I don’t think I shall ever regret 
having asked you.” 

How was it, thought Lili, that he could repeat a sentence like 
that, with such an expression of sincerity, and she could find 
no reply ? She only laughed a little. There was a pause in the 
conversation, but Georges quickly revived it, and continued his 
pleasant chat until it grew dark, when he rose, apologizing for his 
lengthy visit. 

“ Oh, not at all ; on the contrary,” said Mr. Verstraeten, “ I am 
very pleased to see you again. Remember me to the old 
gentleman and to your sister.” 

“ Emilie declared she could not manage without you,” added 
Madame Verstraeten. “ She will be glad you are home again.” 

Lili thought she could understand that Emilie must have missed 
Georges, and she offered him her hand, and once more cordially 
thanked him for his offer. 

“A good fellow, that deWoude ! ” said Mr. Verstraeten, when he 
had gone, and Lili returned to the small drawing-room, and as she 
went heard mamma also express herself favourably about Georges, 
charmed as she was with his polished courteousness. 

“ He always gives us a call when he can. Of course he would not 
do so if there were no girls in the house, if we received no company, 
but still 


122 


ELINE. VERE. 


Lili heard no more ; she smiled at her own fancies, in which she 
saw herself together with Georges, gliding over the ice, their hands 
clasped in each other’s. 

Marie came home, accompanied by Freddie, Paul, and Etienne, 
who took leave at the door ,* she entered the room tired out, cold, 
with flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes. It had been splendid ; 
the ice was crowded, the little Eekhofs, Eline, and Henk were there. 

“ De Woude has called here,” said Madame Verstraeten. ‘‘ He 
has been back these three days.” 

“Indeed!” said Marie with indifference, and she began to 
unclasp her little cloak. 

“And he asked me to go skating with him, when I am better,” 
said Lili, somewhat embarrassed, and with a little cough. 

Marie all at once stopped undoing her cloak, and looked at her 
sister in astonishment. 

“ De Woude ? With you ? And what did you say ?” 

“ That I thought it very nice of him, of course. What else 
should I have said ? ” 

Marie roared with laughter. 

“ What, you skating with de Woude ? with that ‘ stuck-up 
coxcomb,’ that * piece of affectation ’ ? But, Lili, that will never 
do ; you always thought him such an intolerable bore.” 

Qit'est ce que i^a faitf At least he is politer than Paul or 
Etienne, and if he likes to assist me ” 

Marie still laughed. 

“ But he can’t skate ! ” she cried contemptuously. 

“ He says he is passionately fond of it.” 

“ Oh, don’t you believe it. Rubbish ! ” 

Lili shrugged her shoulders impatiently. 

‘^But he wouldn’t tell any fibs about it, surely ! ” 

Dear me, how eager you are all of a sudden to champion him ! 
At one time there was no good in him at all.” 

“ I always thought him very nice and polite.” 

“ Lili, how can you tell such disgraceful fibs ? You always 
thought him unbearable.” 

“ But, Marie, that is no reason surely why I should not go skating 
with him,” cried Lili, almost in an imploring tone. “ When you 
go to a dance I am sure you are not so particular about your 
partners.” 


ELINE VERE. 


123 


** Still, I hardly know what to think about it,” Marie persisted 
teasingly. All at once on the ice together. — Mamma, do you think 
'tis right ? ” 

Lili turned away with dignified contempt. 

“ Child that you are ! ” she said, looking down upon her sister ; 
and she was much annoyed at herself, for she felt herself blushing, 
and — for nothing at all. 

“ Papa is asleep?” asked Georges, as he entered Emilie^s sitting- 
room in the evening after dinner. 

Emilie gave a little start ; she was somewhat under the influence 
of a copious meal ; her chair was so comfortable, the fire so sociable. 

Yes; papa is asleep,” she repeated, blinking her eyes. 

Georges laughed. 

‘*And how about Emilie ; has she been asleep too?” he asked 
good-humouredly. 

“ No,” she answered. “ I have not been asleep, only dozing a 
little. Will you stay at home to tea? Yes, that will be sociable.” 

And she looked at him with a kindly expression in her honest 
eyes ; she felt a sort of motherly affection for that younger brother, 
whom she had brought up and petted from his childhood, and who 
had now returned to her fostering care after a two months^ absence 
abroad. She was glad that he was looking so well, he had even 
grown stouter, and with pride she remarked that a more manly ex- 
pression lay over his delicate features, or was it her fancy, because 
she had not seen him for some time ? 

Georges sat down beside her, and they conversed about things in 
general. She knew him well, she thought, and she felt sure that he 
was about to ask her some favour. Inwardly she was glad that he 
needed her, but still she could not resist the temptation to leave 
him to shift for himself entirely, without helping him to come to 
the point. He hesitated a great deal, and when from her assumed 
indifference he judged that it was not the right moment to speak, 
he seemed of a sudden determine J to postpone what he had to say, 
and in a firmer voice began talking about something else. Then 
she felt sorry, and said but little in reply, whilst she tried to 
think of some means to lead him back to his original intention. 
But she could find no pretext whatever, and so she cut the matter 
short at once by straightway asking him — 

“ I say, Georges, what is it ? What have you to tell me ? ” 


ELINE VERE. 


124 

Now it was his turn to pretend indifference, and with assumed 
surprise he answered — 

“To tell you ? How do you mean ? ” 

“Oh, I don^t know; I thought — I fancied I could see something 
in the ends of your moustache,” she said jokingly. “Is there 
nothing the matter, really ? Money affairs, perhaps ? ” 

She knew better, they were no money affairs, it was never any- 
thing to do with money affairs, for in money matters he was always 
so desperately precise that she could never find the slightest flaw 
in that quarter. And indeed he shook his head in denial, but still, 
though he looked at her smilingly, he got no farther ; his question 
must indeed be an awkward one if it made such a ready talker as 
he hesitate. 

“Oh no,” he answered. “’Tis all said in a few words, but there 
are times when words will not come at all ; isn’t it so ?” 

“ Look here, Georges, don’t beat about the bush, pray ; if you 
have anything to say or to ask of me, come out with it straight 
away, without mincing matters, that is quite unnecessary with me ! ” 
she resumed almost reproachfully, but with such an encouraging 
tenderness that he grasped her white hand, and with playful 
gallantry raised it to his lips. 

“ And now, allons ! fire away ! ” Emilie urged, giving him a light 
tap under the chin. 

He was forced to speak, he could not go back, and he gathered 
up his courage and began slowly in broken sentences, but soon 
came to the point. His position — would she think it very foolish 
of him, if he — thought of getting married ? There was a tremor in 
his voice, as though his fate depended on her answer. 

His words took her by surprise ; despite his twenty-four years, 
she still looked upon him in some way as her boy, her pet child, 
and— he thought of getting married! But notwithstanding the 
superficial gloss of his airy manner, she knew him to be manly and 
sensible ; he would not ask her such a thing if he had not thoroughly 
thought it out, and it would be wrong of her to wound him, perhaps 
in a deep-seated affection, by one word of banter. Still she felt 
alarmed at the thought of sooner or later losing him. 

“ Marry ! Georges, do you really think of it ” 

He smiled, as though charmed at some bright vision. 

“Why not?” he asked, almost in a whisper. 

“Are you— are you then— so much in love?” she asked softly. 


ELINE-YERE. 1 25 

“Is it ?” and a name rose to her lips, but she failed to 

pronounce it. 

He nodded his head, laughingly, as though he knew that she had 
guessed right. Some time before his departure to Berlin, already 
she had teased him about Lili Verstraeten, about whom he always 
had such a lot to say. But now that he acknowledged it, she felt 
disappointed. How did he know that Lili could care for him? 
Was he not building castles in the air? But she did not give 
expression to the thought ; she would not shatter his illusion, he 
seemed so happy in his quiet hopefulness. 

“Georges, if you are in earnest, really — well, let us consider 
now,” and she moved her chair closer to his. “ Suppose it all goes 
smoothly at first, say you propose, and she accepts you, what 
then ? How long .won^t you have to wait before it can come to a 
marriage ? ” 

“Why?” 

“ But, Georges, whatever do you mean ? How simple you are ! 
You surely don’t intend to marry on your salary as assistant-consul ? 
Twelve hundred florins, is it not? ’Tis true you are entitled to 
your share of mamma’s legacy, but it is only a trifle, all in all you 
won’t be very rich. So I ask you, on what are you going to marry 
then? You cannot depend much on what the Verstraetens will 
give as a dowry ; they live well, but simply ; they are not really 
wealthy.” 

“My dear Emilie, if you want to reckon at all, then reckon 
properly. ’Tis true, on the support of my intended parents-in-law— 
if they will ever be that,” he whispered smiling, “ I — don’t reckon 
at all ; in fact I should not even care about it.” 

“ For all that, you would not say no, if they were to come forward 
with anything substantial.” 

“ I don’t know ; that is a factor which I shall put aside for the 
present, in fact I haven’t even given it a thought ; but you were 
reckoning up just now, and you reckoned rather carelessly. Suppose 
I don’t pass my examination as vice-consul this year, is my share 
to the legacy not fifteen hundred florins ? ” 

“ About that.” 

“ Well, twelve hundred plus fifteen hundred makes ” 

“ Two thousand seven hundred florins ! And would you marry 
on that?” 

“ Why not?” 


126 


ELINE VERE. 


She clasped her hands in despair. 

“ But, Georges, you are — pardonnez-moi le mot — you are out of 
your senses. Don’t be a child, pray, and don’t create illusions out 
of impossibilities. Perhaps you have got hold of that little book — 
let me see, what is it called ? ‘ How to live a comfortable married 
life on fifteen hundred florins.’” 

“No; I don’t know the book, but fifteen hundred is not two 
thousand seven hundred florins, and I flatter myself ” 

“ You flatter yourself ! Yes, you will do a lot ! Are you a fellow 
to jog along with a wife from January to December on a wretched 
couple of thousand gulden ? Yes, indeed you will do a lot,” she 
repeated excitedly, and almost angry, when he wanted to interrupt 
her, and she rose excitedly from her easy-chair. I fancy I see 
you, established in apartments on the second floor, luxuriating on a 
beefsteak once a week, eh ! However, ’tis a life / can’t describe to 
you. I don’t know anything about it, that I will confess. You are 
used to good living, Lili also ; how are you two going to — ? 
Oh ! come, ’tis too absurd. Do be sensible, Georges ! I know 
you too well ” 

“ It seems you do not quiteP' he interrupted in his low voice, 
which contrasted with her indignant tone. “ At all events, I think 
I have the faculty to be able to regulate my wants in proportion to 
my means.” 

“ Maybe you do, but how about your wife ? Would you force a 
young girl, brought up with a certain amount of luxury, also to 
regulate her wants according to your means ? Believe me, Georges, 
nowadays people do not live on love and moonshine, and young 
people like yourself, like Lili, must have some luxuries, they must 
go out ” 

“ Oh ! that eternal going out. I went out when I was a youth ; 
surely one need not always to be going out.” 

“ Egotist ! Therefore, because you as a youth went out as much 
as you liked, you want to marry and stay at home for economy, 
and sit with your wife luxuriating over your weekly beefsteak. 
What a grand prospect for her, to be sure ! ” 

“ But, Emilie, why must you lay such a stress on the urgent 
necessity of going out every evening? I don’t see it myself, I 
must admit. I base my happiness on something altogether 
different.” 

“ Up to this moment you have been as gay a butterfly as any 


ELINE VERE. 


127 


one of them — in short, you have gone out. ’ Now you are in 
love you have had a little poesy infused into your ideas ; but believe 
me, that will wear off, and when you have been married a 
little while you will find it very sociable indeed to have a pleasant 
circle of acquaintances.^ 

Granted, as far as the circle of acquaintances is concerned ; 
but to give them up is no part of my plan, and it will not cost 
so very much to keep up their friendship.” 

“It costs a greal deal, Georges, believe me,'^ urged Emilie. 
“ You receive invitations ; you don’t want to be considered mean ; 
you must give a little dinner, however unpretentious ; you have to 
do so again and again, and all this, mind you, you have to manage 
on two thousand seven hundred gulden, eh .? Well, I fancy I can 
see you at it already. Especially your wife, who has to keep house 
on those two thousand seven hundred gulden, or rather on as much 
of it as you allow her. Anyhow, you won’t catch me coming to 
stay with you, do you hear ? ” 

He laughed at her indignation, but still he did not yield himself 
vanquished. 

“ Emilie, don’t excite yourself about nothing at all, pray ! ” he 
said calmly. “Up to now ’tis all in the air yet, eh? I have not 
yet — taken a step — I don’t know even whether ” 

He did not complete the sentence, hesitating to express in words 
the thoughts that seemed so disagreeable. 

“Yes, Georges, I understand,” she replied, somewhat appeased 
by the calm of his voice ; “ but still financial circumstances can 
hardly be put off as second considerations; this much you will 
admit.” 

“ Of course ; but you must not fix my budget too high. By the 
bye, dear,” he interrupted himself with a winning smile, “talking 
about a budget — ^just help me to arrange one, will you?” 

“ What ! of a total of two thousand seven hundred gulden ? 
Impossible, Georges, I am not equal to the task. Why, to live 
respectably in apartments, unmarried, you would want more,” 

He sighed. 

“Then we can’t agree about the matter at all?” 

She shrugged her shoulders. 

“ You are a child to persist in such foolish ideas. You don’t 
know what life is.” 

She was annoyed that he was so obstinate, and would not listen 


128 


ELINE VERE. 


to her good advice, but he — although he would not have admitted 
it — felt himself hesitate a little in his so-long-thought-out ideas ; 
he felt a burden of hopelessness overwhelming him, and saw the 
ground of his expectations glide away from under his feet. Slowly 
he passed his hand across his forehead ; it were better perhaps — if 
he waited. 

Perhaps — I should— do better to — wait!” he whispered, giving 
expression to the thoughts that oppressed, and his words were so 
full of sad resignation that Emilie, notwithstanding the victory she 
had achieved, felt pained. 

She took his head in both her hands, and looked long into his 
sad, wistful eyes. 

“ You dreamer ! ” she said, full of motherly tenderness and 
sympathy. ‘‘Who knows, eh? You are so young — and perhaps, 
who knows, perhaps ” 

“ Well — perhaps what ? ” 

“ Perhaps you are right, and I am all wrong,” casting aside her 
victory at the sorrow it caused her spoilt boy. “ Only, think well 
over it ; be sensible, Georges, I beg of you I ” 

And she pressed a loving kiss on his eyelids, which closed, and 
beneath which she felt a suspicious moisture. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

“ Adieu, Betsy ! good-night, Henk ! I am going to lie down, I 
am tired out I ” said Eline in one breath, while still in the hall. 

“Won’t you take a snack of supper first?” asked Betsy. 

“ No, thank you.” 

She walked up-stairs, while Betsy shrugged her shoulders. Betsy 
knew her and her ways, and from the curt, determined words she 
guessed that Eline was in one of those moods of nervous excitability 
in which she almost hated any one who attempted to dissuade her 
from her intentions. 

“What is the matter with Eline?” asked Henk anxiously, when 
they had entered the dining-room. 


ELINE VERE. 


129 

“Oh, how should I know?” cried Betsy. “It commenced at 
the concert, and in the carriage she did not even answer me, as 
you must have noticed. I don't trouble about it, but I think Eline 
intolerable when she has those ridiculous fits.” 

Calm and dignified, in her swan’s-down and plush, Eline walked 
upstairs and entered her sitting-room. The gas was alight, and a 
log of wood burnt on the hearth. For a moment she looked round, 
then tore the white lace from her hair, and the little cloak from her 
shoulders, and with bowed head and staring eyes gazed in front of 
her with a vacant expression, as though crushed under the weight 
of a terrible disappointment. 

In the little Venetian mirror, gracefully suspended with red cords 
and tassels, above the white group of Amor and Psyche, whose 
idyllic appearance was in mocking contrast with the irony of her 
thoughts, she saw herself reflected, glistening in “her pink rep silk,” 
a pink aigrette in her hair, the same in which, three months ago, 
she had first seen Fabrice. 

And now — 

She almost laughed aloud, she thought herself so ridiculous, she 
felt a loathing for herself, as if she had been dabbling in the 
mire. 

There had been a concert of the Diligentia Society at the Hall of 
Arts and Sciences, and at her request, Henk an^ Betsy had accom- 
panied her there. Fabrice was to sing; “the popular baritone of 
the French Opera had been invited to gather fresh laurels at the 
concerts in the Hall,” so ran the paragraph in Het Vaderland. 

Eline did not rest until she was certain of going ; at first she had 
asked the Verstraetens ; Madame Verstraeten did not feel inclined, 
Lili was still ill ; then she asked Emilie — Emilie had an engage- 
ment ; at last she came to Henk and Betsy, who, although neither 
of them were much in love with concerts, agreed to go. And Eline 
had expected great things in seeing Fabrice in a new sphere, that 
of a concert-singer. Fortunately enough, their seats were close to 
the stage ; he — oh ! he must have noticed her at the opera, he 
would give her a sign, he loved her — the Bucchi fan ! And so 
Eline went on, creating endless illusions ; her passion filled her 
mind, more and more with a second, imaginary, fantastic exist- 
ence, in which Fabrice and she were the hero and heroine ; a 
romance of improbabilities and a constantly growing web of poetical 
extravagance. 


130 


ELINE VERE. 


He thought her beautiful, he worshipped her, they would fly, sing 
on the stage, and through poverty and privation pass on to fame 
and fortune. A feverish rapture at the thought that she would once 
more see him diffused a light pink tint over the amber pallor of 
her features, her eyes had sparkled in the veiled glow of her 
languishing glances ; and — They had gone, she had taken her seat, 
resplendent with a beauty that had drawn glass after glass towards 
her, and the first notes of the symphony sounded in her ears as the 
soft strains of a hymn, laden with joyful whisperings of love and 
happiness. Then — then he appeared, amid a thunder of applause. 

And just now, whilst Eline was vacantly staring into the mirror 
in front of her, she once more pictured him as he appeared on the 
concert platform. 

Clumsily, like a stout carpenter, in a dress-coat that seemed too 
tight for him, his short crisp hair greasy and slimy with cosmdtique^ 
plastered down upon his cheeks, his face as red as a lobster, in 
contrast to the spotless white of his shirt-front, he presented a 
coarse and prosy appearance, with a disagreeably sullen expression 
about his bearded mouth and in his blinking, half-closed eyes, 
shaded by thick, bushy eyebrows. And it seemed to Eline as 
though it were the first time she saw him. All the charm with 
which he, in his talented vivid acting, in the brilliant dresses which 
displayed his figure to the greatest advantage, had exerted over 
her, was now dispelled as by one strong gust of wind ; and though 
his voice resounded with the same splendid metallic ring which 
had filled her with rapture at the opera, she was scarcely aware 
that he was singing, shocked as she was at her gigantic mistake. 

Had she then had no eyes ? What ! that prosy carpenter the 
ideal of her fantastic brain ! In her despair and disappointment 
she could have sobbed with chagrin, but not a feature moved, and 
she remained sitting immovable, almost stiff ; but a light shudder 
ran through her, as she drew the cloak about her shoulders. As 
long as he sang she looked at him from top to toe, as though she 
would no longer spare herself, and her breath came and went 
quick with agitation now that she plunged into the depths of her 
sorrow without being able to give vent to it. Why had she not 
seen him thus when she met him in the Bosch, in his cape, with 
his muffler and his big felt, that gave him a romantic appearance, 
something of an Italian brigand ? Had she indeed so far forgotten 
herself? Shuddering, she glanced round the room. No one 


ELINE VERB. 


13I 

seemed to notice her, no one suspected the storm of disappoint- 
ment that raged within her ; Fabrice absorbed the attention of all. 
Fortunately none knew, none would know. 

But the thought that she was safe from the eye of the world gave 
her no comfort. Before her lay the shattered ruins of the airy, 
glass edifice of her tender visions and fancies, which, pillar by 
pillar, light and delicate, she had erected for herself, glittering and 
fair, higher and higher still, in fantastic crystal splendour, ever 
higher, higher, until as with an apotheosis it seemed to reach the 
very clouds. 

And now, all was shattered, all visions and fancies of the brain 
were vanished, dispelled as by one gust of wind, and not even a 
chaos was left of it all, only a terrible vacuum, only that man there, 
with his red butcher’ s face and his white shirt, and his tight-fitting 
coat and grease-beplastered hair. 

N ever had she suffered as she suffered that evening. 

For three long months that romance of love had caused her 
heart to beat each time his name was pronounced in her presence, 
each time she saw his name announced on a placard, and now — 
one glance at that (Vincent’s words re-echoed in her ears, full of 
mockery and derision) “stout ugly customer’’ tore that romance 
out of her soul, and all — all was gone. 

r She scarcely spoke, and when in the foyer Betsy, noticing her 
drawn pallid features, asked her whether she was ill, Eline calmly 
replied in the affirmative — yes, she did feel rather faint. They met 
the Oudendyks and the van Larens, they laughed and joked, they 
mentioned Fabrice’s name, but Eline sank down on a bench, like 
a wounded dove, and listened, nearly swooning with grief, under- 
standing nothing, and with a vacant smile, to something young 
Hydrecht was saying to her. 

In the second part of the concert Fabrice appeared again, and 
again he was received with jubilant applause, and Eline felt faint 
and giddy. It was as though the public in their mad admiration 
were dancing a satanic dance round about the baritone, sullen, red, 
and coarse as ever. Cold drops of perspiration formed on her 
brow, her hands felt cold and clammy in their tight-fitting covering of 
peau de Stdde^ and her bosom heaved with long, oppressive gasps 
of breath. At last — thank Heaven ! — the concert was over. 

Now she was alone, and she could allow herself to be swayed as 


132 


ELINE VERE. 


much as she chose by that storm of grief ; she need no longer nerve' 
herself to appear bright and smiling before the world ; and so, with 
a sob of anguish, she fell upon her knees before the Persian sofa, 
and hid her little throbbing head in the embroidery of the soft 
cushions. With her hands she tried to quench the gasping sobs 
that shook all her delicate frame, her hair came away from 
the clasp that held it, and fell about her, a mass of glossy 
waves. 

After the first grief and disappointment, a bitter feeling over- 
mastered her, as though she had, even were it but in her own eyes,’ 
rendered herself up to an ineffaceable ridicule, to something that 
was unworthy and ludicrous, the stain of which would for ever 
cling to her, and of which the memory would ever continue to 
haunt her, like a mocking, grinning phantom. : 

Long she remained thus, her head buried in the cushions, her 
whole being writhing in the anguish of her despair. First she 
heard Henk, then Betsy, retiring to their rooms, and then Gerard 
bolting the street door for the night, the sound re-echoing through 
the silence that reigned in the house. After that nothing stirred, 
and Eiine felt herself very lonely, as though forsaken in the midst 
of an ocean of sorrow. 

All at once, a thought made her start. Quickly she raised 
herself up, while the brown hair whirled about her shoulders, and 
an expression of wounded pride came over her tear-stained face. 
With a firm resolution and apparent calmness, she approached 
her writing-desk, and shuddering placed the key in the lock, 
opened the drawer once so dear to her, and took the album out of 
it. The red velvet seemed to scorch her fingers like fire. She 
pushed a chair by the side of the hearth, where the log of wood 
was still aglow with fire ; she opened the book. That, then, was 
the shrine of her love, the temple of her passion, in which she 
had worshipped her idol ! And as she turned the pages, the pro- 
cession of portraits passed along : Ben- Said, Hamlet, Tell, Luna, 
Nelusco, Alphonse, de Nevers — for the last time. Roughly, the 
gilt-edged leaves tearing under her fingers, she removed the 
photographs, one by one, and without hesitation tore them up 
in little pieces, cracking the hard cardboard in the angry clutch 
of her delicate fingers. The pieces she cast into the fire, one by 
one, and while the flames were curling round them she continued 
her work of destruction, and threw more and still more into the 


ELINE VERE. I33 

fire, stirring it up with the poker, until it was all burnt out That 
was past, that shame was purged. 

. Then she rose, somewhat relieved. But the torn album, which 
she still held in her fingers, continued to scorch her hand, and 
suddenly grasping the velvet book, so roughly that it split her 
finger-nails, she hurled it, with a subdued cry of abhorrence, far 
away from her, against the piano, the chords of which gave forth 
a dull, low sigh. 

Then she picked up her cloak and her lace from the floor, smoothed 
the rumpled silk of her dress, and retired to her bedroom, where a 
small milk-white night-lamp diffused a soft, sad light around. 

And it seemed to her as if anew she was plunged into that 
ocean of sorrow, that abyss of disappointments, whilst all at once a 
dispute with Betsy rose to her mind. But a few days ago, in fact, 
she had declared that Roberts, her music-master, was growing old 
and was no longer any good, that she intended in future to take 
lessons of an artiste — of Fabrice, for instance — and Betsy had asked 
her if she was mad, and had declared that such a thing should 
certainly not be done in her house. 

It need not be now. 


CHAPTER XV. 

The severity of the winter relaxed, and spring-time drew near, 
bringing with it rain and chill mists, which enveloped the leafless 
trees in damp cold shrouds. And everybody talked about Otto 
van Erlevoort, who was so full of attention for Eline Vere. Oh 
yes ; it would certainly end in an engagement, thought the Eekhofs, 
the Hydrechts, the van Larens, and Madame van der Stoor, 
Henk had been to Gelderland with Etienne ; they had stayed at 
the Huis ter Horze, the seat of the Erlevoort family, where 
Theodore, the eldest son, lived summer and winter, with his wife 
and children ; and during that time Otto had been a frequent visitor 
at the Nassauplein, being, ’tis true, mostly invited to spend the 
evening there, in company with others ; but still, was it not very 


134 


ELINE VERE. 


strange that he who generally led such a quiet life and went out so 
little, should all at once visit the van Raats so frequently ? How- 
ever, should it come to an engagement, it would be a capital match. 
Otto was a nice boy, and had a good position ; Eline was most 
charming, elegant, rich, as was thought ; they were cut out for 
each other ; and besides, Eline would be glad to get a baron for her 
husband. In fact people thought them so well matched that they 
felt rather sorry at finding nothing much to say against it, and they 
searched until at last they found something. It was really Betsy’s 
doings, you see, for she did not get along too well with her sister, and 
would not be sorry to see her leave the house decently. Betsy 
encouraged Otto ; it was true Eline seemed willing, but if it had 
not been for Betsy, neither he nor she would have thought of it. 
Oh yes ; Betsy, she was all right in company, but in the house a 
viattresse fe7nme? No, no ; worse than that — a vixen ! Good stout 
Henk she had entirely under her slipper, and if Eline were not so 
firm, and' showed her teeth a little less, she too would have got 
under her thumb. On the face of it, it seemed so nice, so kind, to 
take a younger sister, an orphan, into the house, but to people who 
were so wealthy as the van Raats that meant nothing. Besides 
that, the Veres had money too, and nobody believed that it was 
all couleur de rose in the house. Therefore, Betsy found it was 
time that Eline should marry. She could have had the chance often 
enough already ; but she was pretty and hard to please, and so forth. 
Anyhow, it was her business, was it not "i 

Eline was well aware that people talked about her in that way, 
but in her calm dignity she troubled herself precious little about 
it. She believed so too; Otto would propose to her, and she 
thought she had better accept him. She felt no love, ’twas true — in 
the way that she understood its meaning — for van Erlevoort, but 
there was not the slightest objection to him. It would be a capital 
match ; she might have liked a larger fortune, but she thought 
that with her refined frugality she would have sufficient tact to 
spread a semblance of luxury about her. 

But to say that Betsy encouraged Otto was going a little too far. 
Betsy, although she looked upon such a marriage as very desirable, 
felt no personal sympathy for Otto, who w'as too formal and precise 
to please her ; and she was polite and friendly towards him, but 
never betrayed the slightest sign that she thought him a desirable 
brother-in-law. 


ELINE VERE. 


135 

At the van Erlevoorts’, too, some rather indiscreet questions had 
now and then been put; but Frdd^rique merely shrugged her 
shoulders. She knew of nothing ; Eline had been engaged so 
often already — in the eyes of her acquaintances at least — why 
then should she not be engaged for once to Otto ? she asked, so 
ironically that they could not guess at the truth. And still she 
was aware that mysterious interviews sometimes took place at 
home between Madame van Erlevoort, Mathildc, and Otto, a sort 
of family council that seemed never to come to a decision. She 
felt herself a little pushed aside, and she was too proud, now that 
they despised her advice, and did not seem to care for her opinion, 
to force herself upon them. Once even, when she had mamma, her 
sister, and brother together after dinner, and had noticed they had 
suddenly ceased speaking when she entered, while her hand was 
still on the handle of the door — they had looked at her with some 
embarrassment — she had disappeared, without saying a word, softly 
closing the door behind her, in silent grief and chagrin. With 
Otto, too, after their conversation about the fan, she sought no 
further confidence, for did he not look upon her as a mere child ? 
Very well, she would not trouble him: with her childishness. And 
only to Lili and Marie she gave herself vent about Eline, that 
vain coquette, without a spark of feeling in all her smiles and 
poses ; but when Paul was present she was silent. He took her part, 
too, another victim to Eline’ s coquetry, just the same as Etienne, 
who would not hear a word against her ! What did all those boys 
see in her ? She could not understand it ; she thought Eline nothing 
but artificiality and affectation, an actress ; in short, Eline was acting. 
And although Etienne’s pleading for Eline annoyed her, she 
felt herself, now that he was away at the Horze, lonely without him, 
in the midst of the bustle of the little van Ryssels and the barking 
of Hector, betwixt which Miss Frantzen made desperate efforts to 
restore peace and quietness. 

It was Sunday, and Paul van Raat sat before his easel, upon 
which there lay a half-finished picture, representing some old 
Delft ware, an old Bible, an antique Rhine wine-glass, and a silver 
ewer, that of Vincent’s, which he had taken after all — the whole 
loosely arranged on a broad, crumpled Smyrna table-cover. But 
the work proceeded very slowly ; the light was and remained faint, 
however he might raise or drop his curtains, and he regretted to 
find that his fingers could with much more ease arrange the objects 

10 


ELINE VERB. 


136 

tastefully, than they could afterwards depict them on the canvas/ 
It was all the fault of the weather ! with such a rainy sky there 
could sparkle no light in the wine-glass, whilst it gave the silver 
ewer the appearance of tin. And he laid aside his brush, and 
with his hands in his pockets, and whistling to himself, walked 
up and down his studio, a little annoyed at his want of energy. 
He would so gladly have finished it, but he could not, exert himself 
though he might. 

His room was one artistic chaos, even as his amateurish tempera- 
ment was a chaos, out of which a creation rarely came forth. 
Above a carved oak cupboard hung a trophy of ancient weapons ; 
the walls, up to the ceiling, were covered with china, paintings, 
engravings, and etchings, and female figures in marble and terra- 
cotta seemed to surround him, as with a harem of milk-white and 
amber-coloured beauties. Books were scattered about everywhere, 
out of untied portfolios peeped forth sketches and engravings ; on 
the ground, round about the easel, lay a medley of brushes, pencils, 
and tubes. A large ash-tray was full of ashes, and everywhere 
there was dust and rubbish. Leentje, the parlour-maid, was seldom 
permitted to enter this room. 

And whilst in his disappointment he walked up and down, it 
seemed to him as though it would be a relief to clear away all this 
artistic rubbish, throw his easel in the lumber-room, and never 
more think of a brush. It seemed to him that when once his 
room were cleared of art, he himself would have no further longing 
for art, and therefore suffer no more disappointments. It was only 
a waste of time ; he could find better amusement than that eternal 
dabbling. And he thought how he would re-arrange his room, 
simple and comfortable, so that one could move about without 
throwing down a statue here, or stumbling over an Eastern rug 
there. Still, the thought was tinged with sadness ; it was all 
illusion, long since shattered and cast down from its pedestal, the 
last remnants of which he was now about to clear away. 

All at once he heard Eline’s laughing voice in the hall, and he 
went down-stairs into the back sitting-room, and kissed his mother ; 
she had come with Ben. Betsy invited Madame van Raat to come 
round that evening ; there would be no one there besides Madame 
Eekhof and her two daughters, Ange and Ldonie, Frdderique and 
her two brothers, and Vincent. 

“Of course, we depend on you also, Paul,” she said, as she 


ELINE VERE. 


137 


gave him her hand. ** Cela s^entendy fUest-ce pas f Come, little 
madam, you had better say yes ; it won’t be nice at all of you to 
refuse ; you may go at your usual early hour, if you like. Ce nest 
pas d refuser y 

Well, little madam would consent ; but she really did not feel 
at home with all that youth about her. 

‘‘ That’s just the thing that does you good, a little cheerfulness. 
Look at Madame van Erlevoort,” said Eline ; “ take example by 
her.” 

The old lady was not proof against the temptation of her 
darling’s voice, and gave herself over ; Paul, too, promised to come. 
And Madame van Raat looked at Eline, who sat beside her on 
the sofa, with some curiosity, as though she were revolving some- 
thing in her mind. 

“ I say, Eline, I must ask you something,” commenced Madame 
van Raat at length, in a whisper. “ Is it true t ” 

Eline felt a faint blush tinge her cheeks, but she acted as though 
she did not understand the question. 

“What, little madam.? how do you mean?” The old lady 
smiled, but gave no explanation. She only asked — 

“ Frederique is coming too this evening, is she not ? ” 

“ I think so, at least ” began Eline. 

“ Alone ? ” 

“No; with — as I said just now — with her brothers, Otto and 
Etienne.” 

“ Oh, indeed,” said the old lady indifferently ; but she looked at 
her askance, whilst something like joy played in her lustreless 
eyes. 

Eline smiled, a little embarrassed. 

“ I think you are a very naughty old lady,” she said, stroking her 
muff. 

“ Oh, people talk so much, you know ; don’t they ? One hears 
this one day, that the next; but still, sometimes one hears the 
truth too.” 

“ And what have you heard ?” 

“Something you ought to have told me long ago, if you had 
placed any confidence in me. Now I had to learn it from Betsy.” 

Eline started. 

“ Did Betsy say ?” she stammered. 

“Yes, deary; and I had much rather have heard it from you 


ELINE VERB. 


‘138 

first,” repeated Madame van Raat, feeling hurt, as an old lady 
who has been slighted. 

Eline grew impatient. It was true Otto had asked her, but she 
could not yet decide, and it annoyed her. How every one seemed 
to know about it, and gave her unasked advice ! how every one in 
veiled and open terms dared to make all sorts of representations 
to Betsy ! others, under the cloak of intimacy, had even whispered 
in her sister’s ears that she should urge Eline to declare herself. 
She now had had enough of these indiscretions, and she was on the 
point of giving Madame van Raat a sharp answer, but she restrained 
herself, and gave no sign of her annoyance, whilst she murmured 
close to the old lady’s ear — 

“Well, what should I have told you? It is true Erlevoort has 
proposed to me ; but I could not talk about it before I knew myself 
what I should do.” 

And she just glanced at Paul, but quickly turned her head away 
again, feeling annoyed too with him, for he looked at her intently, 
as if he wanted to catch her words. Anyhow, she was not going to 
satisfy their unmannerly curiosity, and she rose and put a stop to 
Madame van Raat’s chat — from which it appeared that the old 
lady liked Otto very much — with a kiss and a few little words of 
endearment. 

And the increased lovingness of Madame van Raat’s trembling 
kiss, no less than the playfulness that twinkled in Paul’s eyes, 
annoyed and irritated her, whilst she was waiting for Ben, as his 
grandma was still caressing him in her arms. 

No ; Eline did not know how to decide. She shuddered at taking 
a step that could make her happy or unhappy for life. It seemed to 
her as though her future depended only on one single word, which 
she hesitated to utter. She shuddered at the very idea of a 7nariage 
de raison^ because in her heart she felt a longing for love, much 
love, although it was a feeling which she had done her best to 
repress after her recent disappointment. And Otto— she had danced 
with him, had laughed and joked with him, but never had his image 
held her thoughts even for a moment, and she had always forgotten 
him as soon as she heard or saw him no longer. When, however, 
she saw through his earnest simplicity of character, when she 
guessed that he loved her, the idea was sweet to her, and she told 
herself that it would pain her were she to cause him grief, or to 


ELINE VERE. 


139 


refuse him anything, even her hand. And whilst she thus wilfully 
blinded herself, the rapture of his quiet passion for her seemed to 
pour balm into her wounded heart. 

The thought of becoming his wife, under the influence of her 
self-deception, filled her with a serene joy ; something like a sweet 
vision arose to her mind, and — she began to look at the matter from 
a financial point of view. 

Yes ; the idea was a cheering one. To be quite independent, to 
leave her sister^s house, where, notwithstanding her own little 
private fortune, she felt as though she were in fetters, something 
like a troublesome guest, whose presence was tolerated for the sake 
of the world’s opinion. But beneath all these various reasons 
which allured her to welcome Otto with a calm pleasure, there 
lurked, like an adder as it were, invisible to her own eye, the bitter 
regret at the ruin of her shattered fantasies, and if ever she gave 
herself away to Otto, it would be in order to be avenged on Fabrice, 
and on herself. 

In the meantime, as soon as he had proposed, as soon as it 
became necessary for her to reflect, and there was no overwhelming 
wealth of passion to which she could yield herself up, she had 
stepped back full of terror at the ordeal of giving her decision. 

He, Otto, waited ; he at least Avas discreet. For some days past 
he had avoided the house of the van Raats, and she wanted to 
reward him for his discretion ; blushingly she had asked Betsy to 
send him a personal, intimate invitation, as she did to Freddie and 
Etienne. 

He would come, she would speak to him ; and it seemed to her as 
if some unseen power pushed her forward down a steep path ; as if 
she would act otherwise than she did, but that she was powerless to 
escape her fate. It seemed to her as though, blindfolded, she groped 
about after her happiness, stretching forth her hands in anxious, 
breathless suspense, and listening to something that seemed like the 
echo of the happiness that she was never, never to find. 

Betsy poured out the tea. Madame van Raat and Madame 
Eekhof sat beside her on a sofa, and conversed with Eniilie de 
Woude. Henk, with his hands in his pockets, was listening at- 
tentively to Vincent, and Eline, Ange, Leonie, and Paul were 
turning over some music at the piano, when Otto and Etienne 
entered. 


ELINE VERE. 


140 

“And Frdddrique?” asked Betsy with surprise, as she held out' 
her hand to Otto. 

“ Frederique felt a little tired ; she is very sorry,” he answered 
simply. 

“ She is often out of sorts lately,” said Etienne, as though to add 
some weight to his brother’s words. 

Eline felt her heart beat. She was very nervous, although she 
effectually concealed her nervousness under her happy cheerfulness. 
It suddenly seemed to her as if every one were looking at her, were 
guessing at her thoughts, and she nearly shuddered to raise her 
eyes, out of fear at seeing the glance of all directed upon her. But 
still, when she looked up, the aspect of the room was quite un- 
changed ; the old ladies were still chatting with Betsy and Emilie, 
Vincent was speaking almost in whispers to Henk, and the girls 
and Paul were shaking hands with Etienne. 

But Otto approached her. She scarcely knew how to carry 
herself, and fancied she looked very awkward ; but it was just that 
very hesitancy that lent something coy to her slender little figure, 
and gave her a new charm. She heard how he simply bade her 
good evening, but in his voice there sounded something full and 
rich, like the promise of a great affection. She suddenly felt 
conscious of a fresh emotion, a melting tenderness in her heart 
which she could not understand. 

He remained standing there, by the piano, at her side; but 
entered into conversation with Ange, while Ldonie was engaged in 
boisterous fun with Etienne. Once or twice Otto glanced at Eline 
to make her participate in their chat, and she smiled, without 
hearing what passed. She could no longer follow her thoughts ; 
they fluttered about in her mind like a swarm of butterflies, and it 
seemed to her as though a chorus of voices was singing in her 
ears. She understood that she might not allow herself to be drawn 
into the luxurious softness which seemed to encircle her as with 
velvet arms, that she durst not give herself up to dreams in the 
midst of a room full of people. And after a few laughing words she 
turned away, wondering at the subdued tone of her voice, which 
sounded as though she was speaking through a veil. 

“Vincent, you play too, don’t you.?” she heard Betsy ask, and 
she saw the old ladies and Emilie rise, and caught sight of Henk 
seated at the card-table in the opposite room, and busily picking 
out the pearl card-counters from a Japanese box. She seemed to 


ELINE VERE. 


I4I 

be moving as in a dream ; she saw the cards spread out on the red 
cloth-covered table in the form of a big S ; she saw the wax candles 
burning at the corners of the table, and Madame Eekhof s bejewelled 
fingers drawing a card. 

It seemed to her as though she herself was far away from it all. 
Vincent sat down opposite Madame van Raat, Henk was to have 
Madame Eekhof for a partner. Betsy returned with Emilie, they 
would join in later on. 

“ Madame van Raat, shall we be disturbing them if we have a 
little music ; or is it such a terribly serious card-party ? ” Leonie 
asked of Betsy, pointing to the card-table. 

Oh no, not at all, amusez vous toujours!' answered Betsy, and 
she led Otto and Emilie with her to the sofa. To strangers she 
was always most amiable. 

“ Come, Eline, do let us hear you ; deary, we are dying for your 
ravishing melodies ! Leonie continued, with unextinguishable 
vivacity. “ I will accompany you with my fairy fingers.*’ 

‘‘No, L60 ; not this evening, please. I am not in voice.’* 

“Not in voice? I don’t believe a word of it ! Come! aliens ^ 
chante ma belle I what shall it be ? ” 

“ Yes, Eline, do sing ! ” cried Madame van Raat from the oppo- 
site room, and then in an embarrassed voice asked her partner what 
were trumps. 

“ Really, little madam ; really, Ldo, I can’t. I can always tell when 
I can’t sing. I don’t as a rule refuse, do I ? But you have brought 
some music with you, have you not? ” 

“ Yes ; but they are not the sort of songs to commence with, they 
are for later in the evening. Something serious first ; come, Eline, 
allo 7 is I ” 

“ N o, no ; positively not,” said Eline, shaking her head ; it was 
really impossible. She felt as though in a fever, which brought a 
faint blush to her cheeks, caused her eyelids to droop languidly, 
made her pulses beat, her fingers tremble. 

“ Positively not ? ” she heard softly repeated, and she glanced 
round. It was Otto, who, seated beside Betsy and Emilie, asked 
her, and looked at her with his honest, expressive eyes. Once more 
she shook her head, still, so she thought, awkwardly ; but really with 
unconscious grace. 

“ Really, I could not.” 

And she turned away directly, fearing that he would suspect why. 


142 


ELINE VERE. 


Besides, she felt very embarrassed when her glance met his, al- 
though there was not the slightest reproach in it. And it seemed 
to her as though there was something awkward in the bearing of 
the people who filled the rooms with their chat and laughter, some- 
thing that was unusual and strange ; but still, so she thought, only 
Betsy and Madame van Raat knew that Otto had proposed to her, 
and that she would give him her answer that evening. Whatever 
the others might suspect, they would not let a word escape her 
that could compel her to lift the veil from her secret before she 
chose. And this confidence in their well-bred discreetness re- 
assured her. 

L^onie however pouted, and thought Eline a tiresome girl. Paul 
and Etienne cried that Leo must sing, and were going to fetch her 
music, which the girl, with an affectation of shyness, had left in 
the hall. All three rushed laughing to the door, but Leonie would 
not permit them to look for the music, and they caused a sudden, 
cheerful stir, that made the whist-players in the next room look up 
smiling from their cards. Etienne however triumphed, and soon 
returned, carrying in his uplifted arms the score of The Mascoite. 
The young Eekhofs were persuaded, and laughing and halting they 
warbled, with their thin, shrill little voices, the duet of Pipo and 
Betinna — 

“ O, mon Pipo, mon Dieu, qu’t'es bien ! ” 

whilst Etienne accompanied them, with frequently doubtful chords. 

Still the duet was a success, and with rising gaiety they soon 
warbled, all four of them — Ange, Leonie, Etienne, and Paul — with 
a delightful disregard both of time and tune, now the languishing 

*‘.Un baiser est bien douce chose I ” 

then the comic 

“ Le grand singe d’Amerique ! ** 

and their music was wafted — a fluttering of airy melody — gaily 
through the rooms. Eline had seated herself on a stool next the 
piano, and she leaned her feverish little head against it, almost 
deafened with Etienne’s noisy voice. Her hand kept time on her 
knee, thus still showing some little interest in what was going on. 
She heard the chords of the piano drumming in her ears, and the 
sound of it prevented her from thinking and coming to a decision. 


ELINE VERE. 


143 


Constantly she swayed from one resolution to another. Yes, she 
would accept; his love, though not requited, would yet be her 
happiness ; it was her destiny. N o ; she could not force herself, she 
could not without a shadow of love allow herself to be bound in 
this way. And it seemed to her as though her thoughts were con- 
tinually swayed to and fro, as if a clock were constantly ticking in 
her ears : yes — no — yes — no. It would be a relief to grasp at any- 
thing, however blindly. No ; she must only decide after calm 
deliberation. Oh, if that clock would only cease ! she could not 
struggle thus with herself ; she had not the strength. She would 
reflect no longer ; she would let herself be carried away by the in- 
visible powers that drove her down the steep path ; she would yield 
herself up entirely to the stress of circumstances; they must decide 
for her. And she felt a cold shiver overtake her when their glances 
met, and she rose. 

Vincent addressed her. 

“Well, Elly, have you committed any folly yet ; any thing outrage- 
ously mad ?” asked Vincent, mocking her voice. 

Round the piano it was quieter. Ldonie was seated beside 
Emilie, and was giving her a vivid description of a little dance at the 
van Larens’. Etienne had turned himself round on the piano-stool 
and was joking with Ange, who had tumbled on the ottoman in a 
burst of laughter, and covered her face with both her little hands. 
Paul joined in the laughter and turned over the pages of music. 

“ How ? what ? how do you mean ? ” stammered Eline, who 
did not understand. 

“ Did you not tell me, a little while ago, that you were about to 
do something desperately absurd? now I ask you whether you 
have hit upon anything yet ? I should like to join you.'’ 

His banter grated on her ears. In her present unusually serious 
mood, the remembrance of that period of frivolity seemed to her 
like an echo of vanished wishes. No; she no longer had any 
desire to give herself over to equivocal absurdities ; she would be 
sensible and practical, as Otto was. Equivocally absurd, her dis- 
appointed passion — if she might give that name to her folly — had 
been more than enough ; in future she would not let herself be 
carried away. And she crushed the feeling of bitter remorse that 
rose in her heart with the sharp sting of an adder. 

While she was searching for some light phrase in answer to 


144 


ELINE VERE. 


Vincent’s question, a sudden alarm seized her. A new thought 
struck her. No, it was no longer possible ; she could not go back. 
Otto, Betsy, all expected her to accept ; they could not help doing 
so. If she did not intend to accept him, why then did she have 
an express invitation sent him? It was settled. It could not be 
otherwise, and after her sudden alarm a great calm came over her 
whole being. 

“ But, my dear girl, I believe you suffer from absent-minded- 
ness,” cried Vincent laughing. He had asked her why Georges 
de Woude was not there, and she had languidly replied — 

** Oh, yes ; that is true.” 

Now she laughed in her turn ; she was coming to in the bliss- 
fulness of that calm. 

“ I beg your pardon, I have a little — ” and she placed her hand 
on her forehead. 

“ Oh ! headache, I suppose ? Yes ; I know the disease,” he 
interrupted ironically, and gave her a searching glance. “ That 
headache is a family complaint with us ; we suffer a great deal 
from headache.” 

In some alarm she looked at him ; surely he could not suspect 
anything. 

“ I too got a headache whilst playing, under the hammering of 
the piano. It was as though I saw all kinds of colours — green, 
yellow, orange. When that little lively girl there — Ldonie — sings, 
I always see orange colour.” 

And when I sing ? ” she asked coquettishly. 

“Oh, then it is quite different,” he resumed, more seriously. 
“ Then I always see before me a harmonious climax, from faintest 
pink to purple, until the whole is fused together in one delightful 
coalescence. Your low notes are pink, your high ones purple 
and brilliant. When Paul sings ’tis all gray, with a tinge of violet 
sometimes.” 

She laughed gaily, and Paul — who had heard him — also. 

“ But, Vincent, these are visions of an over-excited imagination.” 

“ Perhaps so ; but sometimes ’tis very pretty. Have you never 
experienced it ? ” 

She reflected for a moment, while Ange and Etienne, who had 
heard the latter part of their conversation, came nearer and listened, 
as did Paul. 

“No; I don’t think I have.” 


ELINE VERE. 


145 


“ And have you never felt that some notes remind you of some 
particular odour — for instance, opoponax or mignonette ? The tones 
of an organ are like incense. When you sing that scena of 
Beethoven, ‘Ah, Perfido !’ I always smell the scent of verbena, 
especially in one of the concluding high passages. When you sing 
it again, I shall show you.” 

Ange roared with laughter. 

“ But, Mr. Vere, how lovely to be perfumed like that ! 

All joined in the laugh, and Vincent too seemed in a good humour. 

“^Tis truey parole (Chonneurl^ 

“No; but I tell you what, some people remind me of different 
animals,” whispered Etienne. “ Henk, for instance, reminds me of 
a big dog, Betsy of a hen, Madame van der Stoor of a crab.” 

They screamed with laughter. Otto, Emilie, and Ldonie rose 
from their seats and approached nearer. 

“ What is all this about?” asked Emilie inquisitively. 

“ Madame van der Stoor is a crab ! ” yelled Ange, with tears in 
her eyes through laughing. 

“And tell me, Eetje, of what do I remind you?” asked Ldonie 
with glistening eyes. 

“ Oh, you and Ange are just like two little pups,” cried Etienne. 
“ Miss de Woude, with her double chin, is a turkey ! ” he whispered, 
wild with his success, in Ange’s ear, who nearly choked with 
laughter. “Miss Frantzen is also a turkey, of another kind. 
Willem the servant is a stately stork, and Dien, the cook at the 
Verstraetens’, a cockatoo.” 

“ ’Tis a menagerie, a Noah’s ark !” screamed Ldonie. 

“ And Eline ? ” Paul asked at last. 

“ Oh, Eline,” repeated Etienne, and reflected. “ Sometimes a 
peacock — sometimes a serpent — at this moment a little dove.” 

They shook their head at his extravagant fancies, but still they 
laughed gaily. 

“ Etienne is always jolly,” said Eline to Otto, when the little 
groups were broken up, and she nodded smilingly at Madame van 
Raat, who had given her seat at the card-table to Emilie. Vincent 
in the meantime became the butt of the little Eekhofs, who asked 
him if he were going to open a perfumery store. 

“Yes,” answered Otto. “He has no reason to be otherwise, 
has he ? He has all that he desires.” 


ELINE VERE. 


146 

There was something sad in his words, as if that was not the case 
with himself, and Eline could find nothing to reply. For a while 
they stood close together, in silence, whilst her trembling hand 
clasped the fan at her side, and again her thoughts began to stray. 

“Have you nothing to say to me.?’^ he whispered softly, but 
without a tinge of reproach. 

She took a deep breath. 

“ Really, oh — I —I cannot yet ; forgive me, but really — later, 
later.” 

“ All right, later ; I will be patient — as long as I may be,” he said, 
and his calm tone brought a little peace to her whirling brain. 
No; refuse she could no longer — but still, she could not yet decide. 

And she could not help admiring his quiet tact, as he conversed 
with her on subjects in which neither of them took the slightest 
interest. That simple, quiet tact constituted his greatest charm ; 
he was so entirely himself that it seemed as if his manly frankness 
concealed nothing that the eyes of the world might not see. 
Whilst he spoke, he attempted to cajole neither himself nor her that 
there was anything interesting in the conversation ; he seemed 
only to continue it because he liked to be near her and speak with 
her. It was so evident in the full tones of his voice. His thoughts 
were not in his conversation, and he made no attempt to conceal 
the fact. And for the first time she felt something like pity for 
him ; she felt that she was cruel, and that he was suffering, and 
this feeling again aroused within her that melting tenderness 
which she could not understand. Refreshments were handed 
round. 

“ Will you take a lemonade, madam, and a cake ? ” Eline asked 
Madame van Raat, who was sitting somewhat deserted on the 
sofa, now and again smiling at the joyous group of young people 
who were engaged telling each other’s fortunes. 

“ Wait a moment,” she continued to Otto ; “the old lady is all 
alone ; I shall go and keep her company.” 

He gave her a friendly nod and went to listen to Paul’s horoscope, 
which Ange was drawing for him. 

Eline took a lemonade, laid a cake on a dish, and offered it to 
Madame van Raat. Then she sat down next to the old lady, and 
took her hand. 

Madame van Raat, however, never touched the refreshments, 
but looked Eline straight in the eyes. 


ELINE VERE. 


147 


Well, how is it ?” she asked. 

In her present mood of melting tenderness, Eline could not feel 
annoyed at the indiscreet question. And she answered, very softly, 
almost inaudibly — 

I— I shall accept.” 

She sighed, and the tears rose in her eyes, when for the first time 
she made that resolution. She would accept. And she could find 
nothing more to say to the old lady ; that one word filled her 
mind so completely, that it absorbed every other thought. For 
a moment, therefore, they sat next each other in silence, a little 
turned away from the joyous group round the cards. And Eline 
could hear Ange’s shrill, laughing voice, as she laid down the 
cards, one by one, on the table. 

Now just listen, Mr. Erlevoort. I am much cleverer than 
Madame Lenormand. Here is yours, king of diamonds. You are 
surrounded by much tears, but they are turned into smiles ; you 
will have much money, and will go and live in a chdteau in the 
Pyrenees. Or would you rather buy a villa near Nice ? Ah, there 
she is ! queen of hearts, you see. You are rather wide apart, but 
all the intermediate cards are favourable. You will have to struggle 
against many obstacles before you can reach her, for she is rather 
sought after, you see ; but — the king of clubs, king of diamonds, a 
plebeian even, a social democrat ; knave of spades ! ” 

Black Jack ! cried L^onie. “ Ah,yf done I ” 

Eline smiled, a little frightened, and wiped away a tear from 
her lashes ; and Madame van Raat, who had also been listening, 
smiled too. 

' “There, just see how beautiful those aces lie,” Ange went on. 
“ No fear, Mr. Erlevoort, no fear; ^tis all clearing up nicely.'’ 

“ The cards seem favourable," whispered Madame van Raat. 

Eline gave a little smile of contempt, but she felt a little upset ; 
Black Jack had reminded her of Fabrice. 

The company had risen from the whist-table, and the conversa- 
tion became lively and general. The fortune-telling had given an 
impetus to the gaiety all round, and Etienne was loud in his pro- 
testations to Ange, who prophesied that he would be an old 
bachelor. Not he ; he declined with thanks. 

Ange and L^onie persuaded Paul to sing something else, and 
Leonie accompanied him in one of Massenet’s songs. In the 


ELINE VERE. 


148 

meantime Betsy looked attentively at her sister and Otto, and 
thought she could see that -nothing had yet transpired between 
them. How Eline did dilly-dally, to be sure 1 No ; she had managed 
it better herself. She had quietly accepted van Raat when he in 
his clumsiness had proposed to her. What was Eline thinking 
about ? why in Heaven’s name shouldn’t she accept Erlevoort ? 
They were quite cut out for one another. And she worried herself 
about that sentimental hesitation on the part of her sister, when 
she had the chance of marrying into a good family, and a man in a 
fair position. Her eye glanced coldly on Eline’s slender form, to 
which that hesitating coyness lent an additional charm, and she 
remarked it, as she also remarked the unwonted earnestness that 
seemed to be diffused over her beauty. What a lot of to-do about 
such a simple matter ! But when she caught sight of her husband, 
who was talking to Otto, she felt even more annoyed ; how stupid 
he was, to be sure ! Had he really no notion as yet why Otto was 
there that evening ? 

Madame van Raat left later than she usually did, still feeling 
uncertain in her mind about Eline’s decision. She had to some 
extent anticipated a sort of family evening, and she felt decidedly 
disappointed. 

It was now long past twelve, and Madame Eekhof and her 
daughters, together with Emilie, Vincent, and Paul, prepared to go, 
the girls, amid much laughing banter, being conducted by Henk 
and Etienne through the hall to their carriage. Betsy, Eline, 
and Otto remained behind in the little boudoir, and the silence 
somewhat embarrassed them. But Betsy purposely rose and 
walked into the drawing-room towards the card-table, as though 
to gather up the scattered counters. To Eline it seemed as if 
the ground was giving way under her. She could not hide her 
confusion from Otto’s eyes, and he, although he had had no inten- 
tion that evening of reverting to his request, did not feel himself 
strong enough to resist the temptation of the moment, now that 
they were alone together. 

Eline,” he whispered, in a broken voice; “oh, must I leave 
you like this ? ” 

Almost in terror she gasped forth her pent-up breath in a 
trembling sigh. 

“ Otto— really, truly — I — I cannot, not yet.” 

“Adieu then ; forgive me, pray, for having worried you a second 


ELINE VERE. I49 

time,” he said, and with that he lightly pressed her fingers and 
went. 

As for her, however, she felt herself suddenly relenting into a 
melting tenderness. Trembling and shaking all over, she all but 
fell to the floor, but she saved herself by rushing towards the 
door, where she clung to the heavy draperies, and altogether yield- 
ing herself up to her emotions, she cried — 

“ Otto ! Otto ! ” 

He could not repress a light cry. He quickly turned back and 
caught her in his arms, and with his face all aglow with pleasure 
he led her back into the boudoir. 

“ Eline, Eline ! ” he cried : “ is it true ? ” 

She made no reply, but flung herself sobbing on his bosom, her 
spirit utterly broken with her inward struggles. 

‘‘ You will — you will be my little wife, then ? ” 

She just ventured to lift up her face, whilst she lay trembling in 
his arms, her only reply being her tearful glance and her faint smile. 

“ Oh — Eline — my darling ! ” he whispered, and his lips pressed 
Jier forehead. 

Voices were heard in the drawing-room. Henk and Etienne 
were coming out of the hall, Etienne carrying his overcoat and hat 
in his hand. 

“But where is Otto all this time?” Eline heard him exclaim, 
and she could at the same time distinguish Betsy^s voice, who 
whispered something. 

Otto looked smilingly down upon the little weeping head, which, 
suddenly alarmed, was pressed against his bosom. 

“ Come, shall we go, then?” he asked, and in his simplicity he 
beamed with joy. 

Slowly, very slowly, she let him lead her away, still sobbing in 
his arms, her head hid on his shoulder. Betsy met them with a 
laugh, and pressed Otto’s hand with a significant glance. Henk 
and Etienne were somewhat surprised. 

“ Van Raat, may I — may I introduce you to my intended ? ” said 
Otto. 

It was Henk’s turn to smile now, and Etienne’s, who opened 
his eyes wide with amazement. 

“There’s a sly old customer ! ” he cried, and held his finger up 
threateningly. “ Who would have expected that this evening, now ? 
what do you think of that ? ” 


ELINE VERB, 


150 

Eline, however, still sobbing, relieved herself of Otto’s arm, and 
clasped Henk round his neck. He kissed her, and his big voice 
muttered kindly — 

“ Well, I will congratulate you, sissy, with all my heart. But 
the deuce ! come, don’t cry like that — what’s the idea of that now ? 
Come, give us a laugh now, for a change.” 

In confusion she covered her face with her hands, and now Betsy 
thought that it was her turn to give her a kiss, and she just touched 
the dishevelled little locks. 

I am very satisfied with my little soirie^ very satisfied 1 ” she 
said significantly. 

Henk wanted Otto to stay a little longer, Etienne was discreet 
enough to take himself off, but Eline whispered beseechingly that 
she was very tired, and Otto did not insist. He was too happy to 
wish for anything more ; he would go, brimful of joy. And she 
thought it very nice of him that he took leave only with a shake of 
the hand, as she feared he would have kissed her before all of 
them. 

The two brothers left, and Eline fled to her room, where she 
found Mina, who was just lighting the lamp. The servant-maids 
had heard the news from Gerard, who had come into the drawing- 
room at a very inopportune moment, and Mina congratulated her, 
and looked at her with an inquisitive smile about her lips. 

“ Thank you — thank you, Mina,” stammered Eline. 

At last she was alone. She glanced in the mirror, and she 
started when she saw the tearful pallor of her face. Yet it seemed 
to her as though her soul glided away in a still, blue lake, that 
noiselessly covered her with its waters, a spot where an eternal 
peace seemed to reign, a Nirvana, the calm rapture of which was 
to her a new happiness. 


ELINE VERE, 


ISI 


CHAPTER XVI. 

It was a fresh, bright May day, after a week of rain and chill 
mists. Jeanne had sent her children — Dora, Wim, and Fritsje — for 
a walk with their nurse, to the Schevening Boschjes. She herself, 
however, had stayed at home, as she was always much occupied, 
and she felt lonely in her apartments, sitting there by herself, doing 
her knitting and darning in a pale sunbeam which she, regardless 
of her carpet and her curtains, allowed to stream freely into the 
room. Frans was away in Amsterdam, where he had gone to 
consult a physician. It was now half-past one, thought Jeanne, as 
she glanced at the timepiece, the tick of which was heard very 
distinctly in the quiet room. About half-past five Frans would 
return, and the time which she had yet to wait seemed so many 
ages to her, although she thought it splendid for once to be able 
to do such a lot of work undisturbed. 

The pale sunbeam fell right over her, but it did not trouble her ; 
on the contrary she basked in its faint warmth. The light shim- 
mered about her light-brown hair, and imparted to her sunken 
white cheeks an alabaster transparency ; it shimmered too over her 
thin, delicate fingers, as with a steady, rhythmical motion she 
plied her needle. And how she longed for the summer ! oh, that 
May, with its damp misty weather and its rare bright days, might 
soon be passed ! how could she have cherished any illusion of May 
being a month of spring beauty, as the poets falsely said ? 

She smiled a little sadly as she bent over the chemisette she was 
making, to press down a seam Avith her fingers ; she smiled when 
she reflected that every illusion, the smallest even, vanished into 
air, while her life rolled on, and the future, which she feared with 
a great, mysterious, unspeakable terror, continually faded away, to 
make room for that gloomy, monotonous reality. And now — now 
she shuddered, now once more that fearful presentiment rose 
up in her soul, like a veiled spectre ; something would happen to 
them, some inevitable disaster would crush them. She took a deep 
breath, shuddering, her hand pressed on her bosom ; shuddering, 
not for herself, not for him — but for the children. 

She rose, it was impossible for her to continue her work, and 
yet she must not be idle on the rare day when the children left 
her undisturbed. Oh, why was she not stronger ? And leaning 


II 


152 


ELINE VERE. 


against the window-sill she let herself be entirely covered by 
the ray of sunshine, like a pale hot-house flower longing for light 
and air, and she gazed, absorbed in her thoughts of what was 
to be, into the little square patch of garden behind the grocery 
shop below. A lilac was just budding into leaf, but in the centre 
or side beds nothing as yet was growing, and before Jeanne’s 
eyes there suddenly arose a vision of Persian roses, such as those 
that bloomed on their property at Temanggoeng, big, like pink 
beakers, full of sweet odour. It was as though she smelt that 
odour ; it was as though the blushing tint of those flowers dispelled 
the dull gray thoughts, and left in their place merely a longing for 
warmth and love. 

Thus she felt when the bell rang, and Mathilde van Ryssel 
entered. They had met each other once or twice at the van 
Raats’, and they were aware of a certain sympathy between them. 

“ I have really come with the evil intention of tempting you out 
for a walk,’’ said Mathilde smiling. “ It is glorious weather, and 
it will do you good.” 

• “ But, Tilly, the children are out, and Frans as well. Really I 
can’t, I have work to do.” 

“ What insurmountable objects, to be sure ! ” laughed Mathilde. 
“ You need not take care of the house.” 

“ No ; but when the children come home, and find me out ” 

‘‘ Really, Jeanne, that is spoiling them ; surely they can manage 
to do without you for a moment. I should get my hat and jacket, 
if I were you, and come out with me like a sensible girl. What ! 
sewing, are you ? That’s work for a rainy day.” 

Jeanne felt a gentle delight at having the law laid her by that 
soft voice, which even in its banter was pervaded with a tone of 
sadness. And she yielded, feeling so happy, and ascended the stairs 
to dress, almost humming the while. 

She was soon ready, and after numberless admonitions to Mietje, 
left the house with Mathilde. The cool wind seemed to lift a mist 
from her mind, while her pale cheeks became cold and almost 
got a colour. She listened to her friend, who told her that she had 
just taken Tina and Jo to the van Raats’; Betsy and Eline had 
asked them to go for a walk with them and Ben. 

And the others ? ” 

** Oh ! Lientje and Nico had absolutely to go out with mamma. 


ELINE VERE 


153 


mamma was already in despair that she could not have the other 
two. I should not have dared to take them with me,” she said 
laughing. “ Dear, kind mamma ! ” 

They had passed through the Laan van Meerdervoort and 
reached the Schevening road, which they followed. There were 
but few people about. Mathilde let herself be carried away by 
her feelings, and revived by the clear, fresh air, little talkative 
though she might be generally in her reserve, and her silent grief. 

“ You don’t know how — how good mamma is,” she said. “ She 
lives only for her dear ones — for her children and her grand- 
children. She never has the slightest want of her own ; whatever 
she thinks or does, ’tis all for us. And I believe if you asked her 
which of us she liked best, she could not tell you. Yes ; she is mad 
with Etienne ; Etienne is always jolly, like a child, and because 
she too is cheerful and likes a good laugh, his jokes do her good ; 
but that she cares equally for Frdd^rique or Otto, or for my 
children, I have no doubt. When mamma writes to London, or 
Zwolle, or to the Horze, it is one long complaint that she never sees 
those stray sheep. You can understand how unhappy she was 
when Catherine and Suzanne married and left her. I believe she 
would like to build a sort of hotel, where she could stow the lot of 
us — Theodore and Howard and Stralenburg, and all the rest. Dear, 
dear mamma ! ” 

They both were silent for a time. The Schevening road twisted 
itself like a long gray ribbon before them, with a distant perspective 
of tree stems under a network of budding twigs. The sunshine 
glistened on the fresh young foliage waving bright under the 
clear blue sky, and on the old stems there appeared a new layer of 
fresh green moss, soft as velvet. The chirping of birds vibrated 
through the clear atmosphere in tones of crystal 

“How glorious it is here!” said Mathilde; “one lives anew. 
But let us get into this little lane. The people tire me ; I dare say 
we tire them too ; we are out of harmony with nature’s surround- 
ings. I always think people so ugly amid green foliage, especially 
in the early spring. You see, I am beginning to philosophize.” 

Jeanne laughed, brimful of happiness. The world appeared to 
her beautiful and good, full of love. And she thought of Frans I 

They had seated themselves on a bench, and Jeanne ventured 
to ask — 


154 


ELINE VERE. 


“ But how about yourself, Mathilde ? . You are always talking 
about your mamma, but never about yourself.” 

Mathilde looked up with something like a shiver. 

“About myself.? 1 do my best to forget about myself. ’Tis only 
to the children that I am still of any use ; for them I live and 
think. If they were not here, I should be dead.” 

In her words there resounded the memory of a dull grief, faded 
away long ago into a placid resignation. 

“If you have imagined yourself very happy, happy through and 
with one, for whose sake you would have sacrificed body and soul, 
and you observe — But ah ! why speak about that ? ” 

“ Does the thought of that cause you such suffering then ?” 

“ Oh no ; I have suffered. There was a time when I thought I 
should have gone mad, and I cursed the name of God ; but that 
bitter sorrow has been transformed into a lethargy that is past. I 
never think of it, I only think of my four little darlings. And that 
thought fills my mind sufficiently, so that I need not become a 
living mummy. You know, until now I have been teaching them 
myself ; but ’tis getting time for Tina and Jo to go to school. Otto 
says so at least ; but I should miss them very much, and mamma, 
of course, sides with me there. Darlings ! ” 

Perhaps she only fancied it, but Jeanne thought that in that dull 
resignation she could detect a tone of suppressed bitterness, and 
she could not help taking Mathilde’s hand in hers and whispering 
pityingly— 

“ Poor girl ! ” 

“ Yes ; you — you are richer than I, you have your children and 
you have your husband,” answered Mathilde with a sad smile, 
whilst her eyes filled with tears ; “ and though you have your troubles 
and vexations, you have more — more than I. Let that be your 
comfort when you have a fit of melancholy. Just think of me, think 
that I could yet envy you, if — if everything were not dead within 
me, everything except that one thing alone.” 

“ Mathilde ! Oh, how can you speak like that ? it pains me ! ” 
“It should not do so, for me it pains no longer. ’Tis only just 
a faint memory of what has been, you know ; nothing more. 
But still, ’tis better to be silent about it; the raking up of these 
memories does me no good, but hurts me, though I am almost a 
mummy.” 

Oh, Mathilde, how is it possible that you can always keep it 


ELINE VERE. 155 

pent up within you ? I — I could not do so ; I should have to give it 

vent, that which made me so ” 

“No, no, Jeanne; oh, truly no, never more! Do not speak 
any more about it, or — I — I shall feel myself brought back to life 
again. No, don’t ; never again — I beg of you.” 

She leaned back against the seat, and tears dropped from her 
lashes, whilst with her waxen pallor, and in her sombre black 
dress, she seemed a picture of an infinite, unspeakable sorrow. 
She would not be brought back to life, she wanted to be dead ! 

Jeanne did not want to get home too late, so that she might be 
there before the children and Frans. So they turned back. 

“ And now I dare say I have made you sad, when I wanted to 
refresh you with a pleasant walk ? ” asked Mathilde smiling. 
“ Yes ; that comes of all that philosophy ; forgive me, do ! ” 

Jeanne could find nothing to say, and shook her head smilingly, 
to signify that she was really not sad. And in her inmost soul she 
had to acknowledge deeply — though Mathilde’s silent despair had 
at first grieved her — now that she herself had once more assumed 
her ordinary semblance of resignation, that pity for her friend 
became fused into a feeling of peace and rest, as far as her own 
small troubles were concerned. By the side of that one great ever- 
reviving sorrow the latter seemed to her small and insignificant, 
the easily-borne troubles of life, whilst had she been doomed to 
bear Mathilde’s sorrows, she would have been crushed beneath 
them. She felt a remorse that she was ungrateful for all the good 
that was bestowed on her, and which still was hers — a remorse that 
sometimes she dared to feel herself wretched at her fate, and yet 
she had been spared so much sorrow I Frans, he might have his 
faults, he might be hasty and disagreeable when he was ill ; still he 
loved her, and after a moment’s reflection, he was always ready to 
own himself in the wrong ; still he prized her. And in that sweet 
thought, which made her feel proudly contented, she could no 
longer feel sad in sympathy, though she considered herself an 
egotist on account of it ; but oh 1 it was so rarely that she felt such 
a delicious sweetness pervade her little soul j was it wrong then 
for a brief moment to feel an egotist’s pleasure ? 

Mathilde took her home again, and Jeanne left to herself longed, 
full of renewed animation, for her children. Soon they came, 
refreshed with their bout in the open, and she embraced them 


ELINE VERE. 


156 

almost impetuously, and let them tell her where they had been, 
what they had done. And when Dora was a little peevish, she 
joked and played with the little weakling until she laughed. Life 
did not seem quite so sombre now j why not be a bit cheerful ? 


CHAPTER XVII. 

Lili sat reading in the small drawing-room, when Fred^rique 
entered. She had been paying some visits and came to finish her 
afternoon at the Verstraetens^ 

‘‘Is Marie out?” asked Freddie. 

“No,” answered Lili; “we have been out. Marie is still up- 
stairs.” 

“What is Marie doing there?” resumed Fred^rique, in some 
surprise. “ What in Heaven’s name is she always doing up-stairs 
lately? Whenever I come here, she is up-stairs. You haven’t fallen 
out, have you ? ” 

“ Oh no ; not at all,” replied Lili. “ Marie is doing some drawing, 
I believe ; or perhaps she has some writing to do, as she often has.’* 

“Writing what — a letter?” 

“Oh, no — a novel, or something of the sort ; but you had bettei 
not say anything about it ; perhaps she does not like us to know.” 

Frederique was silent for a moment. 

“ Don’t you find Marie rather changed ?” she resumed. 

“Changed? Marie? No; I have noticed nothing. Why do 
you ask?” 

“ Oh ! for no special reason ; I w^as only thinking. Marie is 
always so busy just now, with one thing or another.” 

“ But so she has always been ; she always tries to find something 
to do. Papa says I am the only lazy one in the family.” 

Frederique was silent ; but inwardly she wondered that Lili had 
not remarked how lately there was something unusual about 
Marie, something excitable and nervous, so very different from her 
former healthy cheerfulness. However, she thought, perhaps it 
was only her fancy after all. 


ELINE VERE. 1 5/ 

"You know we are going to the Oudendyks^ this evening,” she 
said, to turn the conversation. 

“ Oh yes ; you told me some time ago that you were invited. So 
you are going out again, eh ? You have been a little blas^ for a 
time, haven’t you? at least you were always taken ill after an 
invitation,” laughed Lili. 

"Oh, I felt very ill at ease,” Freddrique answered frankly. “It 
was, you know, on account of that folly of Otto’s. But now that 
there is nothing more to do in the affair, I wash my hands of it. 
He ought to know best, eh? Anyhow, I don’t see the use of 
fretting because 

, She did not finish the sentence, and her eyes became moist, as an 
expression of haughty disdain formed about her mouth. 

“But, Freddie,” Lili gently remonstrated, “he has known her 
so long ; all the time she has been living at the van Raats’; and if 
he really cares for her ” 

= “Oh, there’s nothing I should desire more, than that all may go 
well, and they may be happy. But I can’t help it. Eline I cannot 
bear. Of course now I force myself to be nice and friendly to her; 
but you know it is so difficult for me to make myself appear 
different from what I am. But come, let us talk about something 
else ; it can’t be helped now, and the less I think of it the better. 
Shall we go up-stairs to Marie?” 

< Lili agreed, and they went. In the girls’ sitting-room Marie 
was seated at a little writing-table; a few sheets of writing lay 
before her, but her head was resting on her hand, and with her 
pen she was, as if lost in thought, drawing some strokes across a 
blank sheet of paper. When Freddie and Lili entered, she gave a 
sudden start. 

“ We have come to disturb you in your busy occupations,” com- 
menced Freddie, laughing ; “ that is, unless you would rather have 
us go.” 

“ Certainly not ; you know better, don’t you? So unsociable too 
of Lili, to sit down all by herself, down-stairs.” 

Lili did not answer ; neither of them was in the habit of staying 
in her room in the afternoon, and it was Marie herself who was 
unsociable. 

“What is it you are writing? is it a secret?” asked Freddie, with 
a glance at the scribbled sheets. 

“ Oh no,” answered Marie, with seeming indifference. " ’Tis 


ELINE VERE. 


158 

something I started long ago — a sort of diary, a description of 
our trip in Thuringia and the Black Forest last year. I wanted to 
make up a little sketch about it, something romantic if possible, 
but ’tis getting tiresome. I really don^t know what made me start 
it,” she added softly ; “ Tm not cut out for writing, eh ? ” 

‘‘I can’t say,” said Freddie encouragingly. “Just read us a 
little of it.” 

“Yes; fancy boring you with my school-girl scribble. Pas si 
bite” cried Marie laughing. “ You see, a person must do some- 
thing ; I felt bored, so I started writing. I’ll tell you what it is, 
Frdddrique,” she continued, with a tragic-comic glance at her 
friend, “ I think we are growing so old. Yes, downright old ; we 
are getting tiresome. Do you know, ’tis months since we had a 
good laugh together, as we used to so often.” 

“ With Paul or Etienne ? ” added Lili, smiling at the recollection. 

“ With or without them. We used to amuse ourselves without 
the boys just as well. But now — I don’t know what you think, but 
I think we are all of us awful bores. We are each of us getting 
our worries— have for some time suffered from an antipathy 
towards Eline. Lili does not speak a word ; she is either in dream- 
land all day, or overwhelms me with her romantic musings ; and 
as for myself, out of sheer e7i7iui I start writing about blue 
mountains and misty horizons.” 

“ What will it all end in ? ” laughed Freddie. “ The future looks 
very dismal, especially in your case. Behind those blue mountains 
and the misty horizon there is something hidden, I know.” 

“Something hidden?” repeated Marie. “Oh no, not at all; 
nothing.” 

Frederique fancied she could see a tear glide through Marie’s 
fingers, which she held in front of her eyes. Lili kept herself 
occupied arranging a few books in a bookcase. 

“ Marie,” whispered Freddie softly, “ come, tell me. Is anything 
the matter ? can I do anything for you ? I wish you would tell me 
if there is. I can see there is something that troubles you.” 

Marie rose, and turned her face away. 

“ Oh dear, no, Freddie ; don’t you fancy anything of the sort. 
You are getting just as romantic as Lili. There is nothing, really. 
’Tis only that I feel wretchedly bored, that is all ; I want some 
cheerfulness. Hallo, old chappie ! ” 

Her brother entered, somewhat surprised. 


ELINE VERE. 1 59 

*^Eh! what are you three doing here? Talking about your 
gentleman friends, Til bet ! ” he cried noisily. 

‘‘What a wise remark,” answered Marie. “Just like the men. 
’Tis your natural vanity that makes you say such a thing, though 
you are but a boy yourself. Wait a bit. I’ll teach you.” 

She ran after him round the table, whilst he, mocking her, deftly 
skipped over a chair, which he quickly placed in her way. Freddie 
and Lili roared with laughter at their antics. All at once he 
rushed out of the room, and Marie after him. 

“What a girl that Marie is!” cried Freddie wonderingly. It 
passed her understanding. After a while Marie returned, all out 
of breath. 

“ Did you catch him ? ” asked Lili. 

“ Of course not,” she answered. “ That boy is like a goat, so 
nimble, he skips over everything. Ah, ’tis a treat, a run like that. 

I wish I were a boy.” 

Freddie left, and Lili accompanied her down-stairs ; Marie was 
coming down directly. But she stayed at the window for a while, 
and looked out. In the falling twilight, which was wrapping every- 
thing in a transparent ashen-hued mist, lay the canal, green and 
still, overshadowed by the leafy boughs of the bordering trees. 
Beyond it lay the Maliebaan, dim in the gathering shadows, with. 
^ moist thin veil of grayish dew rising upward from its surface. 

Marie looked out and sighed. Yes; she would always laugh 
away that feeling, that cruel, gnawing bitterness, out of her heart, 
as she had done just now. She was growing old, downright old, 
and tiresome. Without mercy for herself she would wrench away 
that blossom from her soul, she would again and again blot out that 
vision. It was torture, but still she must do it. 

And as she stared away into that melancholy mist, ascending in 
gray layers over the valley yonder, a beloved face rose up before 
her moist eyes — a manly face, with an expression of frankness and 
sincerity in its eyes, and beaming with a winning smile ; but it was 
not upon her, but upon Eline, that that smile threw its brightness. 

The tramcars running between the Ou ’en Schevening road and 
the Kurhaus were thronged. At the junction of the Anna Paulo wna- 
straat and the Laan Copes van Cattenburgh they were stormed 
by waiting crowds, and in a moment they were filled to overflowing 
— inside, outside, and on the platforms. There was a vast amount 


i6o 


ELINE VERE. 


of pushing to obtain even the merest standing-room, among the 
numbers of ladies, who, nervous and excited, fluttered about in 
their gay toilets, peering through the windows in the hope of 
finding a vacant spot. The conductors pulled the bells, and 
shouted to those who were left behind, who turned away and began 
to watch for the next car to arrive. The horses started, and the faces 
of those who had managed to wedge their way in, and were seated 
packed close as herrings, now beamed with happiness after the 
successful struggle. 

“ What a crowd ! It’s fearful,” said Eline, looking down upon 
the surging mass with a placid smile. 

She sat beside Betsy in the open landau, with Henk and Otto 
facing her. Dirk, the coachman, had been compelled to halt a 
moment, but now again the long file of carriages began to move. 
Herman, the little footman, sat on the box with crossed arms, 
motionless and straight in his light gray livery with its bright 
buttons. 

“ There will be a terrible crowd,” said Betsy. But it’s in the 
open air, so we need not fear we shall get no seat.” 

Not a breath of wind stirred through the dense foliage, and after 
a day of intense heat and glaring sun, with the gathering twilight 
aTeaden heaviness seemed to descend over everything. Eline, 
rather faint with the heat, leaned back with pale cheeks and 
spoke little ; only now and then glancing at Otto through her 
drooping lashes, with an archness that was full of happiness. 
Betsy kept up a lively conversation with van Erlevoort, for Henk 
was not very talkative either, reflecting as he was whether it would 
not have been wiser to have stayed at home drinking a cup of tea 
in the garden, rather than rush away directly after dinner to 
Scheveningen. 

Betsy, however, robust and cheerful, enjoyed the fragrant air, of 
which she took deep breaths. She enjoyed the soft, padded cushions 
of her luxurious, well-appointed carriage, contrasting so brightly 
with the other vehicles ; she enjoyed even the sight of Herman’s 
dignified attitude, and of the silver initials worked on the hangings 
of the box. She was contented with herself, with the luxury that 
she displayed, and contented with her company. Eline was so 
charmingly pretty, just like a little doll ; her dress of light gray 
dtamine was almost striking in its simplicity, while the coquettish 
little hat enclosed her face in a framework of silk. Erlevoort was 


ELINE VERB. 


l6l 


such a fine-looking fellow, and so distingiiS j Henk looked so com- 
fortable and stout, so well-fed — her husband was really not so bad ; 
she might have fared worse. And she nodded to her acquaintances 
as their carriage passed by with her most captivating smile ; no, she 
must not seem proud, though her fine bay mares ran never so fast. 

“ Oh, glorious 1 the air is getting fresher, I am beginning to 
revive ! ” murmured Eline, raising herself up, with a deep breath, 
when they had passed the Promenade. “ I feel 1 want some fresh 
air, after the temperature of this afternoon.” 

Come, child, it was delicious ! ” declared Betsy. “ The sort of 
weather I should always like to have.” 

‘^Well, all I can say is, I should be dead after a month of it. 
I say, Otto, you are laughing ; tell me honestly now — do you think 
it’s affectation, or do you really believe that I cannot bear such 
heat ? ” 

. Of course I believe you, Elly.” 

She looked at him with feigned anger, and shook her little head 
reproachfully. 

** Elly again,” she whispered. 

“ Oh yes ; how stupid of me. Well, I do believe I know some- 
thing ! he whispered back delightedly. 

‘‘What are you two planning together?” asked Henk, with 
curiosity. 

“ Nothing at all ; eh, Otto ? A little secret between us ; hush ! ” 
^nd she held her finger to her mouth, enjoying their mystification. 

The fact was she did not wish Otto to call her by the familiar 
diminutive every one else gave her. She wanted him to invent 
one for himself alone, one that was not worn and stale, something 
new and fresh. He did not think it very childish of her, eh ? 
And he had exhausted himself trying to think of one, but what- 
ever he said she was not satisfied; he had better try again. 
Well, had he found something at last ? 

“ I am really anxious to know what it is,” she whispered once 
more, smiling. 

“Afterwards,” he whispered back, and then both smiled. 

“ Look here, until now I have found you less tiresome than 
most engaged couples, so don’t you, too, start these intolerable 
inanities,” cried Betsy indignantly, but without much anger. 

“ Well ; and how about you and Henk then, at one time ! ” 
laughed Eline. “Eh, Henk?” 


ELINE VERE. 


162 

“Ah, I should think so !” answered Henk laughing, whilst she/^ 
at the thought of her sister’s betrothal, now years ago, felt a faint 
recollection of her feelings in those days rise to her mind, like 
something very far away and strange. 

But they had long passed by the villas along the Badhuis road, 
and by the Galeries at the rear of the Kurhaus, and they drew up 
at the steps of the terrace, by the sea. 

The Eekhofs and the Hydrechts were seated at a little table 
close to the band-stand, when Betsy, Eline, Otto, and Henk 
passed one by one through the turnstile. They never saw them, 
however, and walked on, Otto’s hand resting on Eline’s arm. 

“ Look, there are the van Raats, and Miss Vere, with Erlevoort ! ” 
said young HydrechL They are here every evening lately.” 

“How ridiculously plain Eline dresses just now!” remarked 
Leonie. “ What is the meaning of that, I wonder.^ Nothing but 
affectation. And just fancy — a bonnet and veil 1 Every engaged 
girl thinks she must wear a bonnet and veil. Ridiculous 1 ” 

“ But they are a nice pair,” said Madame Eekhof. “ There are 
less suitable matches.” 

“ Anyhow, they walk decently,” said Ange. “ Sometimes those 
engaged couples make themselves ridiculous — Marguerite van 
Laren, for instance, who is always brushing the dust off her 
intended’s coat.” 

Betsy meanwhile, bowing and smiling right and left, thought 
they had better not walk about any more, but look for a table 
somewhere. 

Fortunately it was pleasant everywhere ; it was even desirable 
to sit at some distance from the band-stand, otherwise the noise 
would have been too great. So they sat down at a little distance, 
at the side of the Conversatie-zaal, where there were still several 
tables unoccupied, but from where they could see and be seen. 

It was a constant interchange of nods and smiles, and Betsy and 
Eline now and again whispered amusedly when they caught sight 
of some absurd toilette or ridiculous hat. Eline herself was 
very satisfied at the simplicity with which, ever since her engage- 
ment, she had dressed herself ; a simplicity which, elegant though 
it still was, was in too great contrast with her former luxurious 
toilettes not^to be much remarked. That simplicity, she thought, 
brought out her captivating beauty in a sort of plastic relief, and 


ELINE VERE. 


163 

modelled her slender form as though it were a marble statue. In 
her eyes it veiled her former frivolousness as with a film of grace- 
ful seriousness, a seriousness which to Otto, with his native sim- 
plicity, must be most attractive. 

She could not help being as she was ; she felt it difficult to be 
nothing but herself ; but, on the other hand, it was easy for her 
to imagine herself playing one or another part ; this time it was 
that of the somewhat affected but ever-charming and happy 
Jiancde of a manly young fellow, one of her own circle, who 
was liked everywhere for his unaffected pleasantness. Yes ; she 
was happy — she felt it, with all the delight of a satisfied longing in 
her heart, which had so long craved for happiness ; she was happy 
in the peace and calm which his great, silent love — which she 
guessed at rather than understood — had given her ; she was happy 
in the blue stillness of that limpid lake, that Nirvana into which 
her fantasy-burdened soul had glided as into a bed of down. So 
happy was she, even to her very nerves, which were as loosened 
chords after their long-continued tension, that often she felt a tear 
of intense gratefulness rise to her eye. The stream of people 
passed by her incessantly, and began to whirl a little before her 
eyes, so that once or twice she did not return their greetings. 

‘‘ Eiine, why don’t you bow ? Can’t you see Madame van der 
Stoor and little Cateau ” whispered Betsy reproachingly. 

Eiine looked round, and gave her friendliest nod, when Vincent 
Vere and Paul van Raat approached them. They remained 
standing, as there were no vacant chairs to be seen. 

“ Would you two like to sit down for a moment ; that is, if Eiine 
cares to walk ? ” asked Otto, half rising. 

Eiine thought it was a capital idea, and whilst Vincent and 
Paul took their seats, she and Otto slowly followed the stream of 
promenaders. They approached the band-stand, and the high 
violin movements in the overture to Lohe7tgrin were swelling out 
fuller and fuller, like rays of crystal. 

A group of attentive music-lovers was ranged about the band in 
a semi-circle. Otto wanted to let Eiine pass through the narrow 
gangway between the rows of chairs and the standing group, but 
she turned round, and whispered — 

Listen for a moment ; shall we ?” 
i He nodded his head, and they stood still. How she enjoyed the 
stately swell of melody. It seemed to her as though it were not 


ELINE VERE. 


164 

notes of music, but the blue waters of her lake that flowed by,* 
limpid and clear as the stream along whose bosom Lohengrin^s 
bark had glided, and she beheld the swans, stately and beautiful.' 

At the loud fortissimo she took a deep breath, and while the 
brittle threads of harmony brought forth by the violins spun 
themselves out, thinner and thinner in texture, the swans, stately 
and beautiful, also floated away. 

The applause resounded on all sides ; the semi-circle broke. 

“ Beautiful — oh, how beautiful ! murmured Eline as in a dream.' 
And delightedly she felt Otto’s hand searching for her arm; life 
was sweet indeed ! . 

** Don’t yoii think it foolish ? I always feel myself so — so much 
better than at other times, when I hear beautiful music ; it is then 
that I get a feeling as though I am not quite unworthy of you,” 
she lisped at his ear, so that none overheard her. ‘‘Perhaps it is 
childish, but I really cannot help it.” 

She looked at him smiling, but almost anxiously, in suspense at 
what he would answer. She often felt some fear at what he might 
think of her, as though by one thoughtless word she might lose 
him; for she did not yet understand how and why he loved 
her. 

“ Oh, don’t for heaven’s sake place me on such a lofty pedestal,” 
he answered kindly. “ I feel myself so very commonplace, so little 
raised above others ; you must not put yourself so far beneath me. 
You not quite unworthy of me ! What puts that idea into your 
head ? Little silly ! Shall I tell you something ? I really don’t 
think that you know yourself.’’ 

Could he be right.? she wondered; did she not know herself? 
A glad surprise filled her ; she thought she knew herself so well. 
Maybe there was yet something in her soul of which she knew 
nothing, something perhaps from which her love for him flowed ? 
Was it left for him to disclose to her her own inward nature ? 

“ Oh, Otto ” she began. 

“ What ? ” he asked softly. 

“Nothing. I like you so much when you say anything about 
yourself and me,” she murmured, full of a blissful feeling to which 
she could give no utterance. His hand gently pressed her arm, 
and a tremor passed through her, as they walked on amid the 
laughing, pushing throng between the tables, stared at by all who 
knew them. 


ELINE VERB. 


165 

“ Look at Erlevoort and Eline there, walking blissfully side by 
side, perdus dans le mime rive. They don’t see us again ! cried 
Leonie, almost regretfully, as she passed by them with Hydrecht. 

Eline and Otto all at once heard their names softly mentioned. 
They looked round and saw Madame Verstraeten with Marie, Lili, 
and Frederique seated at a little table. Georges de Woude had 
already risen and nodded to them, smiling. They came nearer and 
shook hands. 

“ Hallo, Freddie ! ” said Otto, surprised. 

“ Madame Verstraeten was kind enough to ask me to come,” she 
answered, by way of explanation. “ Otto, we have just received 
a letter from the Horze : they are all quite well, and they want to 
be remembered to you. To you too, Eline.” 

“ Thanks, very much ! ” replied Eline cordially, while for a 
moment she sat down in Georges’ chair beside Madame Verstraeten. 
Marie had turned very pale, but it was not noticeable under her 
white veil. 

“ Theodore writes that Suzanne and van Stralenburg, with the 
baby, are coming to stay with them next week, and mamma is all 
excitement about it.” 

‘‘What, was mamma going to the Horze? And Howard is 
coming here?” 

“ Yes ; that’s just the dilemma.” 

“ Dear old Madame Erlevoort ! ” said Madame Verstraeten. 

“ Percy wrote he was coming towards the latter part of July. 
Well, van Stralenburg cannot stay longer than the twentieth, writes 
Theodore. So you can understand” — and she forced herself to 
look kindly at Eline — “ you can understand how mamma feels about 
it. To journey to Zwolle, that she will not be able to manage ; and to 
leave the Hague before the twentieth, while Howard and Catherine 
are coming — that of course she cannot do.” 

“ But Howard is also going to the Horze later on, is he not?” 
asked Otto. 

“ Yes ; but he will want to stay a little in the Hague first, and 
take advantage of Scheveningen,” answered Frdderique. “ Mamma 
is thinking of all sorts of plans ; she would be in despair if she did 
not see her new grandchild this summer, you can understand 
that.” 

“ Well, then, I shall prevail on mamma to go to Zwolle with me. 


ELINE VERE. 


1 66 

one of these days ; that will be the best way out of it.’* 
answered Otto. “ The journey to the Horze is still more trouble- 
some.” 

“You might try,” said Frdd^rique. “ That would certainly solve 
the problem.” 

Meanwhile Lili told Madame Verstraeten that she would take a 
walk round with de Woude, and the old lady asked Otto to sit 
down for a moment until they returned. 

“How pretty Eline is, is she not, de Woude?” asked Lili. 
Since she had been skating with him she allowed him to call 
her by her name, and she called him simply de Woude. “ I can’t 
help remarking it whenever I see her.” 

“ Yes ; she looks very nice,” answered Georges indifferently. 

“No ; I think she is downright pretty,” persisted Lili. “ How is 
it possible that you don’t think her pretty ? What a curious taste 
you have, to be sure ! ” 

He laughed gaily, in the enjoyment of a secret thought. 

“ I can’t help it — can I ? — if she leaves me entirely indifferent ; I 
have another ideal of beauty. But if you absolutely want me to 
think her pretty, why then I’ll take another look.” 

“ Oh no, no ; I don’t care a bit,” she answered, also laughing ; 
“ only all the gentlemen think her pretty, that’s why I can’t under- 
stand that you don’t. And I can’t make out cither why Frederique 
does not like herl If I were a man, I should fall madly in love 
with her.” 

“And fight a duel with Erlevoort, I suppose.” 

The first part of the programme was at an end, and the throng 
of promenaders grew denser. Georges and Lili found themselves 
hemmed in on all sides, and they could proceed no farther. 

“’Tis awful,” said Lili. “I don’t see any pleasure in it when 
there are so many.” 

“ Shall we make our way to the sands ? ” he asked softly. 

“ If we can,” said Lili, glad at the idea. “ Mamma will not mind, 
I suppose?” 

“ Oh, of course not, under my care,” he said reassuringly, and 
with evident pride. 

They quickly passed through the turnstile. With a feeling of 
relief they descended the steps of the terrace, crossed over the 
road, and hastened down the broad flight of steps that led to the 
sands. Here and there a Scheveninger was strolling along with a 


ELINE VERE. 1 67 

slow, measured, heavy step, keeping time with the swaying of his 
companion’s thick mass of petticoats. 

And straight in front of the Kurhaus, bathed in the yellow glow of 
the gas-light, the waves were washing with refreshingly cool sound. 

“ Ah ! ” cried Lili, “ how much nicer it is here ! ” 

The sea, calm and unruffled, was flowing on in tints of green, 
azure, and violet, here and there capped with glistening white foam 
all along the beach. In the sky above myriads of stars sparkled, 
and the Milky Way seemed like a cloth of pearls in the midst of 
the mysterious infinity of faint blue. From out of the sea there 
seemed to rise an indefinable murmur, like that produced by a 
gigantic sea-shell. 

“ How beautiful and quiet it is here, after the noise yonder ; it’s 
quite entrancing ! ” murmured Lili in ecstasy. 

“ Yes,” answered Georges. 

She nearly stumbled over something ; thereupon he asked her to 
take his arm, and she did so. It seemed to him as though he had 
very much to say to her, and as though he would never be able to 
express himself without appearing ridiculous. She too felt a delicious 
longing to open her mind, to speak about the sea and sky which 
seemed to her so beautiful; but she felt a little ashamed at the 
poesy that was in her heart, which contrasted too drolly with the 
prosy commonplace circles in which they generally moved. She 
feared to appear affected, and she said nothing. They both kept 
silent as they slowly walked along, with the roar of the sea in their 
ears, and with a soft soothing feeling in their hearts that seemed 
to them more expressive than words. 

They went slowly on, wrapt in their solitude, with the calm of the 
sea before them. And he felt that he must say something. 

“ I could go on walking like that with you for ever,” said he, 
and his bantering tone somewhat concealed the meaning of his 
words. 

She laughed ; it was only fun after all. 

Then perhaps I might get tired.” 

“ Then I should carry you.” 

“ You couldn’t ; my weight would crush you.” 

“ Do you think so little of my strength then ? Come, I’ll just show 
you.” 

“ But, Georges, how dare you ? I shall end by getting angry with 
you, at least if you don’t beg my pardon at once.” 


12 


ELINE VERE. 


1 68 

How shall I set about that ?” he asked, with mock humility. 

She let him spin out a long rigmarole — 

“ I, Georges de Woude van Bergh, humbly apologize to for 

having — ” and he repeated every word, while their echo vibrated 
pleasingly upon her ear. 

For she was not quite so angry as she wanted to appear. It 
seemed to her as though their walk would never end, as if they 
would continue strolling along that light surging strand until they 
should come within sight of a fresh horizon. 

Come, we must return,” she said suddenly ; ** we are going too 
far.” 

They turned back, and were quite frightened when they saw 
how far away the Kurhaus lay, bathed in a ruddy glow of light ; but 
to her that alarm suddenly melted into a tenderness, a soft in- 
difference ; what cared she for the others over there ? they were 
together by the sea. 

“ Lili, really we must hurry,” said he laughing, somewhat con- 
fused. “Your mother will wonder where we haW got to.” 

This time she felt quite hurt at his hurrying ; he could not be 
sensible, then, of that tender indifference ; he did not feel as she 
did, that they were together by the sea, and that all the rest was 
nothing, nothing ! 

“ I really cannot trudge at such a pace through the sand,” she 
said, a little vexed, and she clung closer to his arm. But he was 
inexorable ; she had better lean on his support if she could not get 
along fast enough. He certainly could be surprisingly obstinate 
under the veil of his gentle affability. 

“ But, Georges, I cannot really, I am tired out ! ” she panted 
peevishly, although the would-be anger in her voice melted away in 
a coaxing tone. He, however, laughingly rushed up the broad 
steps, nearly dragging her after him, with her arm clasped fast in 
his own, and really she could not help laughing. It was very 
funny, certainly, rushing along in that way in the darkness. 

Somewhat more slowly they ascended the little steps leading to 
the terrace, and while Georges was searching for the enclosure 
tickets, Lili shook the sand from her dress. 

The second part of the programme had commenced, and the 
band was blaring out the metallic fanfares of the march in the 
Reine de Saba; a few promenaders were still about, but there was 
no longer a crowd. They hurried with apparent indifference, al- 


ELINE VERE. 


169 

though Lili’s cheeks were red as fire, to their little table. Madame 
Verstraeten was seated alone with Marie and Fr^derique; Otto 
and Eline were gone. 

“ Good gracious, where have you two been hiding?’’ cried Marie, 
while Georges and Lili sat down on the chairs, across which a 
cloak had been thrown to reserve them. “ I have been walking 
with Paul, and Eline and Otto could not really keep your seats for 
you any longer.” 

“We made almost superhuman efforts to reserve them, did we 
not, madam?” added Frdd^rique. 

“But where have you been, then?” asked Madame Verstraeten 
wonderingly. “In the Conversazione Room, looking at the 
dancing?” 

Georges told them of [their walk by the sea, and Lili inwardly 
admired him for the tact with which he replied to her mother’s 
questioning. 

Henk and Vincent were seated by themselves at a table near 
the Conversazione Room, while Betsy and young Hydrecht were 
strolling about in a somewhat too boisterous flirtation, and Eline 
and Otto had sat down for a moment next to Madame Eekhof, 
whom they had passed by four times without any greeting, as Ange 
declared. 

“ I was nearly dead with this terrible heat to-day,” muttered 
Vincent. 

“ Yes ; Eline can’t bear it either,” answered Henk, emptying his 
glass of Pilsener. 

Vincent drank nothing ; he felt rather giddy at the incessant 
surging round and round of all these people. He rarely went to 
Scheveningen ; in the morning the heat was unbearable on the 
scorching sand, and at night it tired him too much. Once or 
twice he went, just for the sake of saying he had been. 

A question to Henk was on his lips, one which he scarcely dared 
to put — a request for money. The sezond time that Henk had 
advanced him money, he had not done so with his usual brusque 
bonhomie. Vere’s eternal impecuniosity was beginning to tire him 
-—it was always the same tune ! This had not escaped Vincent ; 
but still he could not help it, and he began with an introduction, 
with an assumed lightness of manner. 

“ I think I shall be able to repay you part of my debt this week, 


I/O 


ELINE VERE. 


van Raat. I am expecting money. Only for the moment I am- 
awfully short. If I had not taken advantage of your kindness so 
often already, I would ask your assistance once more ; but I am 
afraid Em getting indiscreet now. I shall see and get along just for 
this week.” 

Henk did not answer. With his stick he sat slowly beating time 
to the music. 

‘*It’s a nuisance that I did not come to an arrangement with 
that quinine affair,” resumed Vincent. “ But you see I have just 
received a letter from a friend in America ; he is rich and is well 
connected, and will get me an introduction to a business house in 
New York. But for the moment, you know — I say, van Raat, you 
would be rendering me an immense service — lend me another fifty 
florins.” 

Henk turned round to face Vincent, with a passionate movement. 

‘‘ Look here, Vere, is there never going to be an end of that 
bother ? I must frankly admit that it is beginning to sicken me. 
One day ’tis fifteen hundred florins, then a hundred, then fifty. What 
— what in Heaven’s name are you waiting for then ? What is it you 
intend to do ? why do you laze about so, if you haven’t a cent in 
the world ? why don’t you try and get something to do ? I can’t 
keep you, can I ? ” 

Vincent had felt a vague presentiment of a coming storm, and 
let the curt disjointed sentences which Henk in his clumsy passion 
grunted out, pass over him without contradiction. But his silence 
made Henk feel almost embarrassed, and the sound of his own 
voice reverberated roughly in his ears. Still he proceeded — 

“ Then again you talk a lot of nonsense about money from 
Brussels — or from Malaga; another time it is to come from New 
York. When is it coming, I should like to know ? You understand, 
it won’t ruin me if you don’t pay me what you owe me, neither: 
shall I ever trouble you about it ; but taken altogether it’s now not 
far short of two thousand florins, and I am getting sick of it. Don’t 
in Heaven’s name keep loafing about in the Hague here ; look for 
something to do.” 

Henk’s passionate tone was already giving way to a kindlier one, 
but Vincent remained silent, his eyes fixed on the points of his 
boots, which he was gently tapping with his stick, and Henk was at 
a loss what to say next. And it was a relief to him when Vincent 
at length lifted up his head and whispered — 


ELINE VERE. 


I/I 


'' It’s quite true — you are right — but it’s not my fault— circum- 
stances, Anyhow I shall see what I can do — excuse my troubling 
you.” 

He slowly rose from his seat, while Henk, whom that placid 
resignation greatly embarrassed, sought in vain for some appropriate 
phrase. 

“Well, good-night, au revoirl^^ Vincent said with a faint smile, 
and he nodded to Henk without offering him his hand. “ Good- 
night ; I must be off.” 

Henk wanted to give him his hand, but Vincent had already 
turned his back on him, and Henk saw him slowly picking out his 
way through the throng, now and then raising his hat with a languid 
movement. 

Very dissatisfied with himself, Henk remained seated alone at 
his table. After a while, however, Eline and Otto returned and 
laughingly expressed their sympathy for his loneliness. Betsy too 
was soon after brought back by Hydrecht, whose hand she cordi- 
ally pressed. It was late ; many people had already left before 
the last number, and now that the concert was at an end, the 
crowds slowly moved away through the Kurhaus. Gradually the 
noise of the music and laughter-laden atmosphere subsided into a 
restful calm, whilst here and there the gas-lamps were already 
being extinguished, and only a stray group or two were still sitting 
down, enjoying the balmy air, which was growing fresher and 
purer at every moment. 

“It’s glorious here; shall we sit a little longer?” asked 
Betsy. 

“ Let us rather have a drive round,” said Eline ; “ at least unless 
you think it will be getting too late, and the horses are not tired, 
Henk.” 

Betsy thought Eline rather eccentric to want to drive so late at 
night, but still the idea pleased her. And they walked to the rear 
of the Kurhaus, where the carriage was waiting. 

Eline thought the wind had risen, and preferred to sit forward 
under the half-closed hood, next to Otto. Betsy told Dirk to drive 
home through the Van Stolkpark. 

The outlines of the villas looked dim and shadowy between the 
vague, dark masses of foliage, through which now and then a 
gentle gust of wind rustled with a lulling sound. But the clatter of 
the horses and the light rumbling of the wheels along the road 


1/2 ELINE VERE. 

drowned the sighing of the wind with a noise that remained un-< 
broken by words. 

Betsy lay back comfortably, and enjoyed the cool night air. 
Henk was still under the uncomfortable influence of his conversation 
with Vincent, whom he thought he had hurt, and Eline let her 
thoughts wander away in a delicious reverie. She had removed 
her hat, and she bent a little towards Otto, and listened to his 
regular breathing. He, effectually hidden in the shadow of the 
raised hood, had his arm round her waist, and had drawn her 
a little towards him, so that her cheek nearly lay on his shoulder. 
And she was very happy, she wished nothing more than thus, 
in his arm, to be driven along in the evening breeze, beneath 
the gently rustling foliage. She could conceive of nothing sweeter, 
than thus to lean against him, to feel the passage of his breath 
through her hair, and his arm about her waist like a girdle of love. 

And yielding to the delicious influences of the moment, she let 
her head fall on his shoulder. 

“What name have you thought of for me.?” she whispered in 
his ear. 

“Nily,” he whispered back, and whilst she felt his arm clasp her 
waist more closely, her lips inaudibly repeated the name, the echo 
of which resounded through her being like a caress of jubilant love. 

Mathilde van Ryssel had taken a tent by the sea, and told 
Jeanne Ferelyn to come and sit there with her children as often as 
she chose. At first, out of diffidence, Jeanne had only occasionally 
availed herself of the invitation ; but Mathilde was pressing, and 
Jeanne now came very frequently. Sometimes they both arranged 
that they should start in the morning early, and take some sand- 
wiches — the children could get plenty of milk to drink at the milk 
stall ; and so they would sit down, both of them under the awning 
of the tent, chatting over their work, whilst their children were 
delving with their little spades in a big sand-pit in front of them,' 
or were busy along the beach, constructing the most wonderful 
aqueducts. And Jeanne fancied that her children were getting 
more robust and less peevish, now that they were in company with 
the noisy, playful little van Ryssels, and she and Mathilde gazed 
delightedly at the boisterous little band. Jeanne especially felt the 
influence of that frequent intercourse with Mathilde, in whom she 
had found a friend who understood her troubles, and who, with her 


ELINE VERB. 


173 


sad experience and placid resignation, was ever ready to advise 
and aid her. They spoke frequently about their children and 
their domestic affairs, and Jeanne thought Mathilde, used though 
she was to the cosiest of surroundings, exceedingly practical and 
frugal. 

But those pleasant days by the sunny seaside did not last long, 
for the Ferelyns had to leave. They were going to Boppard, where 
Frans was to undergo the cold-water cure, and Jeanne racked her 
brains trying to calculate the probable expenses of the trip. How 
could they afford to stay at Boppard perhaps for six weeks, with 
their three children, while at the same time they could not give up 
their rooms in the Hugo de Grootstraat ? 

^ Madame van Erlevoort, with Otto and Eline, who wanted to 
make the acquaintance of her Jiancd's relatives, had been to 
Zwolle for a day or two, and the old lady was in raptures about the 
little van Stralenburg, a baby plump and firm as any she had seen, 
with such a head of curly dark hair. She was grateful to Otto for 
having pressed her to make the journey to Zwolle ; to the Horze 
she went every summer, and the trip to her country seat was such 
an ordinary occurrence that she saw no inconvenience in it at all ; 
but any other removal from her home circle pained her, as though 
she were tearing herself away from her dear ones for ever. It 
was a luxury to her to be back once more in her roomy house on 
the Voorhout, with its somewhat faded, old-fashioned furniture, 
but full of comfort and ease. Eline thought the van Stralenburgs 
most charming people : Suzanne, a darling little mother, not pretty, 
at times rather careless in her dress, but so unaffected and genial, 
so mad with her little boy, that it was a treat to behold her ; her 
husband, a good-natured, kindly fellow, but thoroughly spoilt by his 
wife, who was constantly at his beck and call, and who ran up and 
down the stairs for him, in a way that made Eline sometimes roar 
with laughter. No, she would never be like that to Otto ; he had 
better be sure of that But although she thus spoke laughingly to 
Otto, at the bottom of her heart she felt it would be bliss indeed 
thus to devote oneself entirely to one’s husband, as Suzanne 
devoted herself to van Stralenburg ; to exist but for him and be his 
faithful slave. 

And then a charming picture of home life with Otto, of the life 
that would be hers, would arise to her imagination, ever active, and 
ever in want of vivid imagery, which even in the happiness of 


174 


ELINE VERE. 


to-day could not refrain from calling into being a yet happier 
future. 

In this mood, which filled her soul with idylls, she saw in every- 
thing but a reflection of that happiness, and the people with whom 
she mingled all seemed to her genial and kindly, never giving 
themselves up to bitter quarrelling, and living for each other, 
without a semblance of egotism. Scenes with Betsy appeared never 
destined to recur, now that she answered her sister’s sharp tone in 
a voice full of gentleness, as though she was loth to desecrate her 
happiness by a single discordant sound. A great calm came over 
her nerves, and she herself could not refrain from wondering at 
her equable, cheerful good-humour, quite undisturbed by the usual 
periodic attacks of listless melancholy. No gray and black mists 
surrounded her ; it was as though she breathed a light atmosphere, 
full of brilliancy, fragrance, and sparkle. 

For a day or two after his talk with Vincent, Henk felt very ill 
at ease. In his native kindliness he did not like to hurt any one’s 
feelings, and he thought he had wounded Vere’s pride. After all, 
the poor devil could not help it, that everything he undertook 
failed. So Henk had called on Vincent, and four times he wanted 
to put the sum he had asked of him in his hands ; but Vincent 
refused to accept it, and instead, in fact, had repaid Henk a 
considerable portion of what he owed him. How he had managed 
to procure the money remained a puzzle to Henk, as everything 
else about Vincent was a puzzle to him. At home, Betsy re- 
proached her husband with his want of tact in dealing with Vere, 
and she, in her vague fear of that cousin, in whom she suspected 
a latent power, which could at will crush her with all her strength 
of mind, resolved at any price to make him forget her husband’s 
brusquerie. Thdodore had invited Eline to come and stay at the 
Horze, and she was to go there towards the end of July together 
with the Erlevoorts and the Howards, who were just now in the 
Hague, and remain in Gelderland all through August. It would 
therefore, so Betsy thought, be lonely in her big house on the 
Nassauplein ; the idea of going out of town with Henk did not 
much fascinate her ; she would rather make a trip to the South 
at the commencement of the winter, when Eline should be married ; 
and it was therefore as much from a longing after change, as from 
diplomatic cordiality, that she invited Vincent to pitch his tent with 
them during Eline’s absence. She made her request with the most 


ELINE VERE. 


charming manner possible. She would miss Eline so terribly, she 
would be so lonely, and Vincent could be so sociable, and chat so 
pleasantly about his wanderings ; so he must not refuse, he would 
be doing her an immense favour. Vincent was overjoyed at the 
request, opening to him as it did a prospect of peace and placid 
luxury. He would lead a life of luxury without having to spend a 
cent, a month long ! and a month of rest seemed to him, in his 
wretched hand-to-mouth existence, a period of bliss without end, 
an eternity of happiness. He therefore accepted Betsy’s invitation 
with a secret gladness, outwardly however with a certain conde- 
scension, as though wanting to show that he still felt hurt at Henk’s 
refusal, and as though he were happy to give Betsy an opportunity 
to make up for van Raat’s unfriendliness. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

Lili was cross, very cross, her lips trembled, and the tears nearly 
stood in her eyes. 

“I really don’t see why he cannot be asked,” she answered 
Marie pettishly. ** He is a regular visitor here.” 

“ But, Lili, how can you be so foolish ? Mamma asked him 
once or twice this winter, and surely we are not quite so intimate 
with him that we should invite him to accompany us into the 
country. When you begin to ask strangers, there is always a sort 
of constraint.” 

But he is very sociable.” 

“That’s true. He improves on further acquaintance, I must 
admit ; but still we don’t know him as we do Paul and Etienne.” 

“ Oh, they are nice boys ! They do nothing all day long but 
lounge about from the Witte to Linke, and from the Bordelaise to 
the Bodega, and always with that wretched Vere. We don’t see 
them at all just now ; Paul occasionally condescends to call, and 
Etienne has now become quite a myth. Ask Vere, if you like,” 
she concluded pettishly ; “ then you will have the trio complete.” 

Marie shrugged her shoulders. 


ELINE VERE. 


176 

‘‘ Now don’t be angry with me, Lili, because mamma won’t ask 
de Woude. ’Tis not my fault,” she answered softly. 

“ Oh no, not at all ! But ’tis always so when I — when I have an 
idea. It’s always pooh-pooh’d. I won’t bother about it any more. 
I don’t care a rap for the whole party.” 

She left the room, with difficulty repressing her tears, while 
Marie took up her book with a sigh. 

Madame Verstraeten had gone to sit down beside her husband 
in the conservatory. She had overheard something of Lili’s short 
passionate sentences, and a thought filled her that brought a 
reflection of hesitation over her kindly face. 

“ What troubles you ? ” asked the old gentleman. 

Oh ! it is about de Woude,” whispered Madame Verstraeten 
hesitatingly, so as not to be understood by Marie. Lili wants me 
to ask him for the party, but ” 

“Well, why not? I don’t dislike de Woude, although he is 
rather foppish. He can be jolly enough with the girls ” 

“ But, Charles, really we must not encourage that. When I see 
him I am always as polite as possible to him, but there’s no 
occasion for us to encourage him, is there ? of what use can that 
be ? Lili is almost a child yet, and gets her head full of fancies ; 
but what — what can come of this now ?” 

“ But why must you all at once think they want to marry ? 
For the present it is only a question of inviting him.” 

“ Yes, yes, I know ; but you never see them when they are 
together, as I do. I wish you would come to Scheveningen once or 
twice.” 

“ No, thanks ; I’m much obliged to you.” 

“Then you would see for yourself. You can’t get him away 
from our table. He is discreet enough not always to accept when 
I ask him to come and have an ice ; but he stays till we go, and 
scarcely says a word to any of his acquaintances. With Marie he’ll 
just take a little walk, pour acquit de conscience^ and after that ’tis 
Lili here, and Lili everywhere. So you understand I don’t see 
much good in it” 

“ Do you think then that Lili ?” 

“ Of course, without question ! Everybody talks about it too, and 
they know it; but they don’t care, bless you! I don’t know— I 
really don’t — what will come of it all,” said the old lady, and 
once more that hesitating shadow stole over her face. 


ELINE VERE. 


177 

Mr. Verstraeten sat for a moment in contemplation ; then he 
whispered something to his wife, and for a long time they talked 
together in an undertone. 

Marie however could not get along with her reading, so she went 
up-stairs to Lili. She found her sobbing, with her little head buried 
in the pillows. 

“ Lili ! she cried softly. 

Lili started when she heard Marie’s voice. 

“ Oh, leave me alone, do ! ” she cried impatiently. 

But Marie took her hands and forced her to look up. 

“ Lili, how can you be so foolish ? ” she said, in her gently pene- 
trating tones. You are making yourself miserable about nothing. 
In this way we won’t be able to get along at all together, if you sit 
and brood like that at every word that is said. Lili, come now.” 

“ Oh, do let me alone ! ” 

** Do you think it so nice, then, to make yourself unhappy, and lie 
here alone, crying.? Why don’t you speak to me frankly? Isn’t it 
much better to trust one another, and be open and straightforward ?” 

How gladly would she herself have spoken, and unbosomed her- 
self to Lili or to her mother ! But no, she could not, there were 
some feelings that were best hidden. 

Lili raised herself a little, and from her tear-stained face she 
brushed away the dishevelled hair with her hands. 

“ What would you have me say, then ? You know all. There is 
nothing that Georges can do finds any more favour in mamma’s 
eyes.” 

Come, you exaggerate. Both papa and mamma like him very 
much.” 

“ Oh yes ; I know. But if it comes to showing him a little 
courtesy — And you too ” 

«What then?” 

** Didn’t you say he was a stranger, who could not be asked ? ” 

“ If I had known that that would have caused you pain, I should 
have said something else. Only I can’t bear to see you agitating 
yourself about nothing, Lili. Why, you carry on as though your 
life were for ever ruined, and all that because mamma thinks 
it better not to ask de Woude.” 

*‘Well, it isn’t very pleasant for me. I have — I have already 
spoken to him about the picnic, and — of course he expects to be 
invited.” 


ELINE VERE. 


178 

“ But why are you so hasty, then ? ’Tisn’t very nice for mamma 
either, when people begin to talk about you two. Only yesterday 
Madame Eekhof asked ” 

“ What do we care about Madame Eekhof, if we like each other ? 
If you were to trouble yourself about everybody 

An almost mocking smile formed about Marie’s mouth. 

‘‘Yes, Lili,” she answered with an underlying sadness, which 
however was lost upon Lili, who heard only the laughing banter of 
her tone, “ it’s very terrible ! You care for Georges, and Georges 
cares for you, and all the world is against you — mamma, and 
Madame Eekhof, and everybody, eh ? ^Tis sad, very sad, isn’t it ? 
And I can quite understand how little hope you have that it will 
ever be otherwise ! How sad, how unfortunate it is, to be sure ! ” 

“ Oh, Marie ! how can you talk like that when you know — when 
you know it pains me ? ” 

“Yes; I am cruel, eh?” Marie resumed, but her smile grew 
gentler. “ Come, Lili, do cease crying now, and give me a kiss ; 
forgive me for what I said. Shall I have another try, and see if I 
can induce mamma to change her mind ? ” 

“ Oh, do^ there’s a good soul ! Mamma will consent if you 
ask her.” 

“Yes; no one refuses me^ eh? With me all goes smoothly. 
’Tis only against you that everybody’s hand is raised. Poor, poor 
child!” 

Lili laughed between her tears as she looked at Marie. 

“ Marie, how droll you are when you sermonize like that ! It 
makes me laugh, really.” 

“ All right, sissy, you laugh away ; let us laugh as long as we 
may. Well, good-bye ; put your hair straight a little ; I am going 
to mamma.” 

She nodded to Lili and left the room, envying her sister who 
could freely express what she felt, and as she was going down the 
stairs she smiled a little sad smile when she thought of Lili’s grief 
and despair about Georges. Her sister seemed to her as a child 
crying for its toys ; she could already see Lili’s little face, now so 
bitterly sorrowful, beam with gladness, as it would do when she, 
Marie, should return to her in half an hour. 

Happy Lili I that she might weep so freely— that she might 
exclaim with such exultation — “What do we care for Madame 
Eekhof, if we like each other ? ” 


ELINE VERB. 


179 


They were bound for a farm-house, kept by a farmer with whom 
the Verstraetens were well acquainted. The road taken lay along 
the Loosduinschen Weg, and the passengers by the brake felt far 
from comfortable in the sweltering rays of the mid-day sun, which 
poured its fierce rays mercilessly down upon their heads. Madame 
Verstraeten and Mathilde sat on a back seat, with Nico between 
them ; Marie, Lili and Fr^derique, Paul, Etienne and Georges were 
their vzs-d-vtSy the front bench being occupied by Tine and 
Lientje, and the little cousins Verstraeten ; Johan and little Gateau 
van der Stoor sat on the box. It would be a cosy little party, 
' entirely among themselves, without the presence of strangers, who 
would only have interfered with their freedom. Marie was taking 
handfuls of cherries from a big basket and distributing them all 
round, and Etienne, between his mouthfuls, was relating how 
Marguerite van Laren had declared that a brake was a plebeian 
conveyance. 

' “ When the van Larens go to a picnic they always go in court 
carriages, I suppose, with powdered footmen ! ” said Georges. 

“In toilettes d la Watteau^ and leading little lambs attached to 
pink ribbons,” added Lili, and they smiled at each other. 

Every one laughed, and they felt in a very good humour, the 
girls in their simple cotton frocks, the young men in their light 
summer suits and straw hats. 

“ Gateau, will you have some cherries ? ” asked Marie, and a 
handful went across to Gateau. “ There you are, divide with Jan.” 

“ Oh, I shall get my share,” cried Jan, in his loud voice. “ Toos, 
shall I show you a little trick ? ” 

“ What sort of trick ? ” asked Toos. 

“ Look, you see those two cherries, don’t you? Now then, put 
that one in your mouth ; that’s right.” 

“ Well, and what then ?” asked Toos, doing as she was asked. 

“ Then I shall take the other, do you see ? There ! ” continued the 
rascal, and opened his mouth for the second cherry with a smacking 
kiss on Gateau’s lips. 

“ I say, Jan ! ” said Madame Verstraeten indignantly. 

That Gateau ! what a stupid girl !” cried Freddie laughing. 

“ I didn’t know what he was going to do,” declared Gateau ; 
“ that wretched boy ! ” 

Gome, Toos, nonsense, you knew all about it ! ” teased Paul. 

Gateau was in despair because Paul refused to believe her. 


i8o 


ELINE VERE. 


And the brake rattled on along meadows full of fat grazing 
cattle, their hides of black and white glossy as satin, while the 
willows along the edges of the ditches waved their fans of silver- 
gray foliage from the summits of their gnarled stems. 

“ I think a willow is such a melancholy tree, don’t you, Georges ? ” 
asked Lili. 

“ Oh, Lili is getting poetic ! ” cried Etienne. “ Come, Lili, an 
ode to the willow.” 

“ It seems I can’t say a thing but you must all laugh at me,” 
answered Lili pouting. “ I must be very ridiculous ? ” 

And they continued to tease her, whilst the cherries rained thick 
and fast in everybody’s lap, amid general laughter. The road 
grew hilly, whilst in the distance the duny heights arose. Here and 
there was a villa, hidden amid the foliage, or a farm-house, with 
fields of turnips and cauliflowers, and rows of climbing beans, or a 
little garden full of sunflowers, geraniums, and tuberoses. A washer- 
woman busily wringing clothes by the side of a ditch raised herself 
up and smiled, and two peasant children ran behind the carriage 
to catch the cherries which Jan and Cateau threw to them. 

The road undulated between yellow fields of oats and flax, be- 
speckled with the blue and red of corn-flowers and wild peas, until 
at length the farm-house was reached. The farmer’s wife appeared 
at the gate with a kindly smile, and from all sides they sprang from 
the brake, while Madame Verstraeten and Mathilde lifted down an 
array of boxes, baskets, and hampers. The driver got down from 
the box and led hissteaming horses to the stable. Jan Verstraeten, 
little Cateau, and the young van Ryssels soon took possession of 
the two swings. Jan had promised Madame van Ryssel that he 
would be careful, and Cateau would look after Nico. 

They are just like a married couple with their offspring ! ” 
laughed Marie, as she followed them with her eyes. * 

“ I’ll drive them all away from the swing in a moment ; I want 
to swing as well,” cried Etienne noisily, intoxicated with the sun 
and the fresh air. “ Lili, will you have a swing with me presently ? 
— at least, if de Woude does not mind,” he whispered, with longing 
eyes. 

“ De Woude has nothing to say about me. But I don’t care 
for swinging, it gives me a headache, thanks.” 

“ I am madly fond of it, Eetje,” cried Marie ; “ I shall be ready 
in a moment ; but high, very high, do you hccar ? Up to the clouds.” 


ELINE VERE. l8l 

Come, let us go and look for a nice little spot, a little further 
on the dunes,” said Paul. 

“ Oh, of course ; Paul is thinking of his comfort again. But 
the dunes are very hot, Pauli y,” said Freddie. 

‘‘No; there are trees, oaks I think, the other side of the 
pavilion.” 

“ Right away, then. It really is too hot to bustle about much. I 
4m of Paul’s opinion ; I like a lazy picnic : lounging in the shade 
and watching the clouds overhead,” lisped Lili. 

“ Lili always manages to unite the languorous with the poetical,” 
laughed her sister. “ In Heaven’s name, de Woude, propose 
something. We are all chattering at once, and you — you say 
nothing.’’ 

Georges laughed, and they went, picking their way through the 
overhanging foliage, and pushing back the leafy branches, which 
again closed behind them with a rustling sound. Lili started, 
frightened at a spider which hovered over her attached to its silvery 
thread, and when de Woude brushed away the insect they became 
the objects of general teasing : she, as the timid maiden ; he, as a 
brave knight, slaying the dragons that surrounded her. 

“ But what have we done, that you are always down upon us ?” 
cried Georges. 

“ Oh, Georges, don’t you trouble yourself about it,” said Lili. 
“They think they are very witty. Oh, Paul, how you let us 
clamber along in this heat. ’Tis quite a journey to that pretty spot 
of yours. And those tiresome branches too. Ooh ! ” 

She glanced, pouting, at her finger, which had received a scratch 
from a thorn. 

“ Let me walk in front of you,” whispered Georges, and he said 
it so softly and glided so deftly in front of her that the others, 
amid their laughter at Lili’s mishap, did not notice it. The two 
dropped behind a little, and Lili smilingly followed after him, while 
Georges held back the branches until they could no longer touch 
her face. 

“ Let them laugh ! You don’t care, do you ? ” he asked, entirely 
absorbed in his happiness. 

“Not a bit,” she answered calmly, shaking her little fair head 
under the big hat, while a mocking smile formed about her mouth. 
“ We can laugh at them now. Who is that shrieking ? ” 

“ Etienne, of course,” said Georges. 


I82 


ELINE VERE. 


Paul and Etienne had come upon a grassy spot beneath the 
chestnut trees, from which a small panorama could be seen ; some 
meadow-land, interspersed by the straight lines of the ditches, 
sparkling under the bright sky, and here and there a cow. In the 
distance a little windmill, and beyond it a border of poplars, 
stately and slender. 

Lili and Georges approached, and found the others in rapture. 

“It’s glorious here,” said Paul. ‘‘Cool moss to lie on, and a 
fine view.” 

They all agreed that it was a pleasant spot, and sat down on the 
ground, tired with their reconnoitring. They removed their hats, 
which, together with the lace or red parasols of the girls, soon 
covered the dark greensward with glowing colour, whilst here and 
there a stray sunbeam, penetrating through the foliage, threw a 
myriad of glittering, dancing dust-particles across the light cotton 
of their frocks, and the yellow and brown shades of their hair. 

“It isn’t so very shady here, after all. At all events I _^am quite 
in the sun,” said Lili, hiding herself in the rosy shade of her en- 
iout-caSj and she cast an indignant glance on Paul, who had a very 
shady place, and was lying full length on the ground, his head 
cosily hidden in a handkerchief. 

“ Hush, Lili, don’t talk ; go to sleep,” he whispered, wkh 
closed eyes. 

“You are very entertaining; you sleep on then. But I am 
scorching here.” 

“ Shall we go and look for a better spot, Lili ? ” said Georges. 

“ Yes, do ; that’s a good idea,” thought Paul. 

“ And just whistle when you have found one,” said Etienne. 

Georges promised he would. They rose, after which Lili, 
leaning on him, descended the dune. 

“ That Lili is always so fussy,” yawned Paul, in his handkerchief. 

But his laziness was too much for Etienne, who pulled him down 
the hillock by his legs, to the great amusement of the girls. 

It was very warm, however, and they could not help it — they too 
began to feel lazy. They would walk about after lunch. When 
peace had been restored between Paul and Etienne, Fr^ddrique laid 
her head on Eetje’s knees, whilst he tickled her ears with a straw ; 
Paul was half asleep, languid with heat and comfort, and Marie 
sat staring contemplatively, with a suggestion of sadness about 
her mouth, at the meadows and the ditches and the grazing cattle. 


ELINE VERE. 


183 


The path along Avhich Georges and Lili descended was a very 
easy one. She floated down, as it were, her hands clasping his 
shoulder, and he hurried at a quick pace. Quicker and quicker he 
went ; and she laughed lightly ; it was as though she were endowed 
with wings. 

How stupid of them to stay there under that burning sun ! Look, 
over yonder, under those trees.” 

“ Those chestnuts ? ” 

“ Yes ; shall we try ? ” 

» Yes.” 

They clambered up, he assisting her, and penetrated through on 
to the wooded hillocks. It was delightfully cool and shady there, 
whilst just a few paces off the sun was scorching. 

“ Oh ! isn’t it pretty here ?” cried Lili. ** And look, violets I ” 

She sat down on the mossy sand, and picked the flowers. And 
he lay down at her feet, too happy to say much, and played with 
the red tassels of her parasol. 

“ Come, now, you must whistle, Georges, as a signal for the others 
to come,” she said archly, knowing full well that he would not. 

“ I can’t whistle, I never could,” he answered, and looked at her 
laughing. 

She laughed too, and threw her violets in his face. He gathered 
them up, and placed them in his button-hole. Then he took her 
hand, and looked in her face. 

“ Do you like me ? ” he asked, his eyes fixed on hers. She laid 
her little white hands on his shoulders, and looking him straight in 
the face, slowly bent her head. 

“ What ? ’’ he asked, full of tenderness. “ Do you like me .?” he 
repeated, and she bent down, so that his lips touched the little 
locks on her forehead, and kissed them. 

“Yes,” she said, and she let her head rest against his face. 
“ Yes, I like you.” 

Thus they remained for a while, whilst he, in his uncomfortable 
posture, enjoyed the weight of the little head on his face. But 
when she raised herself, and once more smilingly looked at him, 
he approached closer to her side, and laid her arm round his neck. 

“Do you know, Emilie ” he commenced. 

“What?” she asked. 

‘‘ Emilie has been speaking to my father ; mightn’t she come and 
speak with your parents ?” 

13 


ELINE VERE. 


184 

“Yes,” she answered, with a beaming smile. “But I don’t 
know — I don’t think ” 

‘‘ Emilie knows how to talk.” 

“ You are very fond of her, eh ? ” 

“ Yes — and of you too.” 

She pressed his head closer in the soft bend of her arm and 
gave him a kiss on his forehead — her first ! 

And the odour of the moss and the violets became mingled 
together into a fragrant sigh, whose sweetness made her feel faint, 
whilst her little hand closed caressingly, and disarranged his light- 
brown hair. She listened, still with that same happy smile, to his 
soft voice, as he was telling her of the conversation he had had 
with his sister, before he knew whether Lili would ever care for 
him. For a time he had certainly felt anxious ; now, however, the 
whole world seemed to him one smiling landscape. 

“Emilie thought you would not have a poor husband. Won’t 
you have a poor husband ? ” 

“ Are you poor ? ” 

“ Well, I am not rich.” 

“All right, then I will have a poor husband. I can be so 
economical. Sometimes I make a month’s dress money last me 
for three months. And don’t I always look neat t ” 

“ Charming.” 

“ But I don’t believe you are very economical. I think you have 
a great many more wants than I.” 

“ I shall have no wants, when I have you. You will be all to me.” 

“Does Emilie care for me?” 

“ Rather I she shall be our little mother. And you will accompany 
me everywhere? To Cairo? To Constantinople? To the Cape?” 

“To Lapland if you like— everywhere.” 

“ My own little woman.” 

He clasped her close to his bosom and kissed her. It was as 
though the world vanished from them and left them alone in 
paradise. It seemed to them as though no other couple had ever 
loved so fondly, as though there had never been any love but 
theirs. 

“ Mamma wants to know if you are coming to lunch ? ” cried 
Johan van Ryssel to the four, lying sunning themselves yonder. 
“You lazy people ! hallo ! you are all asleep, I believe.” 


ELINE VERE. 


185 

And he clambered towards them and fought with Paul, whose 
big limbs, stretched at their full length, irritated him. Frdddrique 
and Etienne raised themselves up, and admitted being hungry. 

“Through doing nothing, I suppose.^” cried Jan, who came to 
call them too. “ We have been swinging and riding in the donkey- 
cart and climbing a haystack, and you — you can do nothing but 
doze.” 

“ Hush ! more respect for age, please,” said Marie with dignity. 

They all descended the path along which they had come, again 
struggling with the overhanging branches that barred their passage, 
when they heard a whistling behind them. On turning round they 
caught sight of Georges and Lili, full of mysterious gaiety. 

“ We have found a nice little spot, very cool ! ” said Georges 
ironically. 

“ Oh, so cool ! ” repeated Lili. 

At that they became the butt of indignant glances, and so they 
wisely lagged behind a little ; still they took good care to be in 
time to join the others at the lunch-table. 

Madame Verstraeten and Mathilde had been very busy, notwith- 
standing the heat. On the coarse white table-cloth there arose 
heaps of little rolls, together with dishes full of cherries and straw- 
berries, and a big basin of cream between two golden tiilbands} 
Sixteen chairs were ranged around the table, and the little van 
Ryssels, flushed with the heat, tired after running, with sparkling 
eyes and moist hair, looked at it all with longing. Nico was already 
seated at table rattling his fork against his glass, and all now sat 
down, and Madame Verstraeten and Mathdde were soon busy 
handing round the different things. 

“ De Woude, take what you like,” said Madame Verstraeten, and 
soon the spot resounded with noisy laughter, whilst the rolls and 
the tulbands disappeared as if by magic, and the fowls were running 
about nervously round the table, keeping close to Nico, who to 
Mathilde’s despair offered them immense slices of bread. Jan in 
the meantime found a fresh cause to reproach the three young men 
with their laziness. 

Behind the farmhouse there was a broad stream, and a little 
boat lay moored alongside. Jan and Gateau wanted to disport 
themselves in it, but Madame Verstraeten would not permit them, 

^ A rich cake baked in the shape of a turban. 


i86 


ELINE VERE. 


unless some one older than they accompanied them. So after lunch 
they stormed up to Paul and Etienne, who were to row them ; Jan 
promised to be a good steersman. 

“Do you think Georges and Lili are safe together?” asked Paul, 
as he pushed off the boat from the shore with his scull. “ Come, 
Etienne, keep time.” 

“ Where are they ? Oh, look, there they go, behind that hedge ! ” 
cried Frdddrique. “ Marie, fancy you as elder sister allowing such 
a thing.” 

Marie laughed kindly. 

“ Oh, let them be happy,” she answered simply. 

Etienne made himself very busy, just to hide his want of skill as 
an oarsman, whilst he made the strongest possible movements with 
his oar. Paul grew more desperate every moment. 

“ I say, Etienne, you don’t know anything about it ; for heaven’s 
sake don’t splash like that.” 

A shower of spray fell upon them. 

“You are soaking me,” said Frdd^rique indignantly. 

“ Go along, do you think I can’t row ? ” 

Cateau and Jan laughed at Etienne, and he carried on in such a 
ridiculous way, that Toosje at last summed up courage to ask Paul 
to let her have a row ; for she looked upon Mr. van Raat as the 
captain. Etienne, in spite of his boisterous remonstrances, which 
nearly caused the boat to capsize, was removed from his seat, and 
Cateau set herself down triumphantly beside Paul, full of eagerness 
to keep time with him in the lifting and dropping of her oar, which 
she clasped, without fear of blisters, closely in her hands. And she 
enjoyed it when their sculls, as if moved by one power, feathered 
in light and measured stroke over the greenish water. 

“ Splendid, Cateau ; you understand it ! ” said Marie. “Jan, just 
steer across to those lilies.” 

Jan steered, and the little boat glided slowly to a pool coated 
with duckweed, upon which the white cups of the water-lilies floated 
amid a wealth of flat, glossy green leaves. Marie bent forward, 
grasped a lily by its tough slimy stalk, and tugged and tugged 
until she pulled the flower out of the duckweed. 

“Over there, look, there are a lot,” cried Jan, pointing to the 
other side. 

And they glided on between overhanging willows, their silver- 
leafed branches bending over the water, and a long line of meadow- 


ELINE VERB. 


187 

land, and Marie mechanically pulled the muddy flowers out of the 
water. She no longer heard the laughter of the others ; how little 
Cateau and Etienne were having a lively dispute as to in what 
fashion an oar was to be handled. She continued, without fear of 
soiling herself with the mud, wrenching out the flowers, whose 
stalks she cast at her feet, like so many slippery eels ; she wrenched 
and wrenched so hard that the stalks nearly bruised her hands. 
Thus too one could wrench a thought from one’s mind, though 
the heart bled from it. 

The young van Ryssels, whom Mathilde did not trust in the boat 
while Etienne was in it, again consoled themselves with their swing. 
Tina pushed Nico, who was sitting very dignified, to and fro, whilst 
Johan, with Licntje sitting between his legs, disported himself on 
the second swing. But now approached Marie and Etienne, and 
when Nico was tired of his dignified attitude they both clambered 
on to the plank. 

‘'High, Eetje, very high !” cried Marie. 

Etienne, with his feet firmly placed against the plank, soon sent 
the swing forward. 

“ Ah ! I see you are a better hand at swinging than at rowing,” 
cried Marie. 

She too pushed the swing forward, and it swung higher and 
higher, whilst her dress fluttered in the wind, her hat blew off, and 
a few hairs dangled about her face. She took a deep breath, as 
high up in the air she hung over Etienne almost horizontally, and 
swayed up and down. She felt a sensation as if an unfathom- 
able abyss yawned beneath her, and as if she rose higher and higher 
into the blue sky, borne upward on the wings of a great bird. 
Her eyes sparkled, her cheeks glowed, and she fain would have 
let go the ropes, and in a desperate flight plunged herself into 
space. 

Then she caught sight of the four children below, who were staring 
in open-mouthed and envious wonder at the “ big folk ” who were 
allowed to swing so high, and she wanted to call them, but her 
tongue refused to utter a sound. Etienne was as if intoxicated, and 
higher, still higher, swung the plank. 

“ Etienne — enough — enough, Etienne ! ” murmured Marie, and 
she closed her eyes. 

And she felt quite dazed when the great bird slowly slackened 


i88 


ELINE VERE. 


the speed of its flight, and at last ceased altogether. She tottered 
when she was on terra Jii'ina once more. 

Etienne picked up her hat. 

“A glorious swing, wasn’t it, eh?” he cried, out of breath. 

Marie nodded smilingly, and with a gasp and a sigh brushed the 
dishevelled hair from her face. And when Etienne took to his legs 
and ran, shouting to his little cousins that they could not catch 
him, and when the young van Ryssels ran after him, Nico last of 
all, waddling along on his fat little legs — then Marie, on the grass 
by the side of the swing, burst into tears. She thought of Lili and 
Georges, how happy those two had been, whilst she, Marie, had sat 
gazing at the meadows and the cows until stars shimmered before 
her eyes ; and how happy they, Georges and I.ili, had been, while 
she had been wrenching the lilies out of the water — hard, very hard, 
with all her might. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

“ Eline, Eline ! was shouted from the garden. Elinc sprang 
out of bed in a fright, on finding it was half-past seven. At the 
Horze the breakfast hour was eight, and so she hurried with her 
toilette. Half dressed she walked to the open window, and looked 
out. There were Theodore’s two eldest girls, Marianne and Henri- 
ette, sixteen and fourteen years old. 

‘‘ Good morning ! ” Eline said cheerily. 

“ What, are you up already ? Well, that’s quick, I am sure ! 
Are you coming down soon ? ” 

“Yes ; I shall be ready in a moment.” 

“ Morning, Eline ! ” she heard a new voice shouting. Eline 
looked out and caught sight of Gustave, a good-looking little fellow 
of ten, with a pair of saucy blue eyes, a regular street arab, with 
ever-dirty hands, and comical as a young clown. 

Morning, Gus,” she cried. 

“ I say, Eline, you know what you promised me?” 

“ No.” 


ELINE VERE. 1 89 

“You will marry me, and not Uncle Otto, eh? You have pro- 
mised me, you know.” 

“ Yes ; all right, Gus. But I must make haste and dress, or I shall 
never be ready !” cried Eline, again busy with her hair in front 
of the glass. 

She could hear the bustle in the garden increase every moment, 
and it made her nervous. Her fine eyes were still rather small, 
her fringy curls did not fall as she wanted them. Again from 
out of the garden, full of sunlight and shadow, a cheery hum of 
voices ascended, among which she could distinguish Theodore’s 
big voice, as well as the lusty shouts of the little van Ryssels. 

“Eline, Eline !” again came from many, many voices. 

‘‘Yes, yes; I am coming!” Eline shouted back almost impa- 
tiently, and she buckled her belt and rushed out of her room, 
through the long corridor, sombre in its brown oak panelling, down 
the broad stairs, and out of the hall. 

In the garden Catherine Howard was walking with Otto, her 
brother. She was not pretty, but she had a pleasant cheerful face, 
and she was almost as lively in her movements as Etienne. 

“ Oh, Otto, I can well understand it,” she said affectionately, as 
she hung on his arm. “ I think she is a dot of a girl. From 
Freddie’s and Mathilde’s letters I expected to see something of a 
coquette, because I really didn’t much remember, it’s so long since 
I saw her, and then it was only for a moment or two at a time, 
when she was living with that old aunt — a widow, a Madame 
Vere, I believe, was it not ? ” 

“ Yes,” said Otto. 

“But now, on closer acquaintance, I think she is a darling. 
There is something so winning and frank about her way of speak- 
ing, something very simple and unaffected, and yet disiingud. 
And she is a little doll, really very pretty.” 

“ Do you think so ? ” said Otto. 

“ I should think so. You may well be proud of her ; it isn’t every 
one who can get such a wifie as that. Ah, there goes the bell I they 
are always early birds here.” 

They walked towards the open room, which looked on to the 
garden, and entered. Old Madame van Erlevoort was already 
seated at the long breakfast-table, and gave a smiling nod to her 
son and daughter. Eline stood talking to Theodore, who reminded 
her neither of Otto nor of Etienne, as he stood there sturdy and 


190 


ELINE VERB. 


broad-shouldered before her, with his well-set powerful frame, and his 
short full beard ; but in his loud cheery heavy voice there sounded 
the native, healthy good-nature of the Erlevoorts. 

His wife, the young Madame van Erlevoort, or Truus as he 
called her, was still occupied, with the assistance of Mathilde and 
Frdderique, in making a few more preparations for the meal. Miss 
Frantzen set the little van Ryssels on their chairs, and fastened 
their napkins about their throats. Etienne came in from the 
garden with Cor, Theodore’s eighteen-year-old son, who was a 
midshipman, and was now staying at the Horze on furlough. They 
were followed by the girls and the boys, Willy and Gustave, full of 
jokes and fun at the expense of their English uncle Howard, whom 
they did not understand, and whom they were to teach Dutch. 

Good morning, Nily !” said Otto, approaching Eline. 

Good morning, Otto ! ” answered Eline, and she offered him 
her hand, and they whispered something together. She felt her- 
self very happy in the new charm which a busy family life had 
opened up to her. To her, who as a child had had no one but her 
sister for a playmate, and whose early girlhood was half dreamed 
away in the depressing surroundings of her aged aunt’s home, it was 
a newly-revealed happiness to be in the midst of such a joyous stir, 
and she began to view life from another standpoint than she had 
done while she was yet under the glamour of soirdes and balls at 
the Hague. Every one was cheerful and pleasant, even Frdddrique ; 
the children she allowed to clamber on to her shoulder at their sweet 
will, freely letting them caress and fondle her with their greasy 
little fingers, without the least fear for her dress or her head-gear. 
She was in love with Tina, the dainty little miss, whom Eline’s 
charm of manner irresistibly attracted, as it had once attracted 
Cateau van der Stoor, and at table Eline’s seat was always between 
Otto and Tina. Old Madame van Erlevoort sat between her two 
youngest grandchildren, Edm^e and Kitty Howard, the only child 
of her English son-in-law, and when she glanced along the table 
beaming with youthful gaiety, it seemed to her as though there 
could be no one in the wide world happier than she, with her gray 
hair and her youthful heart. 

After breakfast Theodore proposed a trip to the so-called “ big 
tree,” for he declared that of the many big trees of Gelderland the 
one at the Horze was the biggest. Howard, Etienne, and Cor 
were to accompany him ; Eline and Otto with the children joined 


ELINE VERE. I9I 

them ; even Edmee and Kitty, under the care of the three girls, 
stormed the covered cart that was ready to convey them. 

In the breakfast-room an Atlantic gale seemed to have raged. 
The table was a chaos of plates and glasses, the floor was bestrewn 
with serviettes, in the midst of which lay Tina’s hat, a spade of 
Nico’s, and a ball of Edmde’s. 

** Isn’t it rather too noisy for you, mamma?” asked Truus, taking 
the hand of Madame van Erlevoort — who was still seated at the 
disordered breakfast-table — in hers. ** Really the children make 
such a fearful din, that it seems quite a relief when they are gone.” 

“Come,” said the old lady, ‘^you ought to be ashamed to talk 
like that.” 

“My four youngsters often nearly drive me to despair too,” re- 
marked Mathilde ; “but with the exception of Cor, who is gradually 
growing a little more staid, yours seem to take the palm for noisy 
young scapegraces.” 

“ Don’t you trouble yourself about me, Truus,” said the old lady. 
“ All through the winter I long for the summer to come, when I 
can go to the Horze, and it does me good to be with you all. And 
I think it very nice of you that you have asked Eline.” 

“ Next year, when they are married, I have already asked them 
to come to London during the season,” remarked Catherine. “ I 
like her very much.” 

Young Madame van Erlevoort looked rather thoughtful as she 
folded up a serviette. 

“And you, Truus,” asked her mother-in-law, who observed it, 
“ you like her too, don’t you ? ” 

“What shall I say, mamma? I know so little of her. I think 
it very nice of her that she adapts herself so entirely to our ways 
and habits, so that I have no occasion to stand upon ceremony, as 
with a stranger ; I haven’t the time for that. So I do think it nice 
of her. But you are aware I don’t at once go into raptures about 
people.” 

“ That sounds too diplomatic to please me, child. As for me, I 
either like a person or I don’t.” 

“ Oh, you must not think I mean more than I say. I have only 
known Eline a week ; she has made a favourable impression upon 
me, I think her very charming, but I don’t yet quite know whether 
.1 actually feel for her or not.” 

It was on Mathilde’s lips to say that she, who had known Eline 


192 


ELINE VERE. 


for years, wars not quite certain of that either, but she said 
nothing. 

And then again — but you mu3t not be vexed, mamma, will you, 
now that we are on the subject?” 

“ No, no, child.” 

“ You see, I can’t help thinking there’s something in Eline as if 
she will never feel herself at home among our family. She adapts 
herself to us, as I said, but I am not so sure that it comes quite 
from her heart. I don’t cause you pain with what I say, do I ? 
There is nothing I should like better than to find that I was mis- 
taken in Eline, and when I know a little more of her — eh, mamma ? ” 

She hesitated to say it right out ; she did not care for Eline. She 
was a sturdy sensible woman and a good mother, ruling over her 
little kingdom with loving care and prudence, who, whilst ever 
friendly and cheerful, was also determined and firm, and made her 
will pass as law. In the firmness of her character she generally 
came forward straight with her meaning, but this time she knew 
that, as Otto’s intended wife, mamma already looked upon Eline as 
one of the family ; she had noticed that Eline could with a single 
loving word or a single caress touch the old lady, and she did not 
like to pain mamma in her son’s intended. But in their rural 
atmosphere — that she could not deny — Eline introduced a discord, 
as of something artificial, something unreal, and this irritated 
Truus. She could not know that Eline was perhaps more herself 
at the Horze than she had ever been elsewhere, that indeed she 
felt happy there in the simple family life, that she felt as though 
a new, a purer, and a fresher life had fallen to her share ; she 
could not penetrate Eline’s inner thoughts, she could but see on 
the surface ; she saw not the sweet calm of those nerves, so 
long overstrung in a life of excessive culture and luxury ; she saw 
only the native worldliness glimmering through a veil of affected 
simplicity, and this irritated her, as the big blue silk sash on Eline’s 
print dress irritated her. 

Catherine Howard was all indignation. How was it possible that 
Truus could say such a thing? it was certainly not very becoming 
to an intended sister. And she galloped along about Eline with 
almost childish ecstasy, in such affectionate words, that the old 
lady, disconcerted at her daughter-in-law’s ideas, soon again beamed 
with pleasure. 

“No; really, Truus, I can’t make you out. I on the contrary 


ELINE VERE. 


193 


admire Eline, because, stranger as she is among our family, she so 
quickly made herself at home. I can assure you that when I came 
to London with Howard — I did not know his family at all, that’s 
true — but I must say I felt a little bit like a fish out of water among 
them, cordial though they all were. But Eline — dear me ! why ’tis 
as if I have always known her ; she is so easy, so accommodating, 
you have no trouble with her whatever. No ; I really can’t under- 
stand that you can even imagine that she will not feel herself at 
home amongst us ; I can’t say it’s very nice of you, I am sure.” 

Truus laughed at Catherine’s indignation, and excused herself as 
well as she could, and as the servant was coming in to clear the 
table, the old lady with Mathilde and Catherine went up-stairs, and 
sat down in the roomy, well-shaded balcony, while Truus remained 
invisible for the rest of the morning, absorbed in her domestic duties. 

The cart was already long out of sight. Thdodore, Howard, 
Etienne, and Cor walked in front, and Otto and Eline followed, 
under the shadow of her big lace parasol 

The conversation of the four men was a mixture of English and 
Dutch ; Howard declared he could understand the latter, and was 
even able to speak a word or two, while Thdodore was continually 
coming to grief with his English in his explanations about tenants 
and lands. Some labourers in their Sunday clothes passed by with 
a respectful salute. 

The road lay bathed in sunshine between the glowing gold of rye 
and oats, and not a breath of wind stirred the stalks. Beyond, 
white and red, gleamed the blossoming buckwheat. In the 
distance arose a farm-house from between a group of trees, wi.h 
a line of smoke rising like a faint gray plume against the blue 
of the sky. 

“I suppose you feel yourself here like a king in your own 
country?” said Howard. 

‘‘ Oh no ! ” answered Theodore. I feel myself more peasant 
than king. But look round a moment; there, right across the 
garden, there’s our palace.” 

They turned round and stood still, so that Otto and Eline soon 
overtook them. Through a break in the dense foliage the Horze 
could be seen in the distance, white as milk, wdth its little shutters 
and slender white turrets, the big vine-clad balconies relieving the 
white monotony with leafy intervals. The lake lay as a round 


194 


ELINE VERE. 


mirror in the midst of the fresh greensward, bespeckled with a 
white fluttering flight of pigeons. 

“ What a very pretty view ! ” said Eline, enraptured. But see, 
who is that waving to us ? ” 

Oh, I suppose it’s grandma and the aunts,” cried Cor. 

They noticed in the shadow of a balcony a number of dark out- 
lined figures, who appeared to be waving handkerchiefs, and they 
all returned the signal, whilst Etienne shouted “ Hurrah.” 

“Come, let us make haste now,” said Theodore, “or we shall 
never get as far as the big tree.” 

Eline spoke English fairly well, and with her Howard got on the 
best. He engaged her in a lively conversation, whilst Eline on 
Otto’s arm, in the shade of her parasol, which he held, laughingly 
replied to him. And Eline herself wondered how it was that with- 
out the least effort she made an agreeable impression upon every 
man with whom she came in contact, whilst the sympathies of 
those of her own sex she could only succeed in enlisting by dint of 
exercising all the arts of her loving affection. 

Through her conversation, full of cheerful banter, the thought 
flashed like lightning — Madame van Erlevoort cared for her only 
on account of Otto ; Catherine liked her out of light-heartedness, 
but their sympathy was not firmly rooted in affection ; with old 
Madame van Raat, with little Cateau, with Tina, it was otherwise. 
And with a smile she leant heavier on Otto ; what cared she for 
all of them ? his love well repaid her for what she missed in others, 
his love was her wealth, and for the sympathy of others she cared 
nothing. 

To the big tree it was a good half-hour’s walk. The road bent 
through the golden corn-fields, along hedges pink with blossom, 
by the side of hilly pine-copses, fragrant with pungent odours, whose 
dark, sombre foliage afforded a grateful shade from the brilliant 
sun-rays. 

Suddenly, at a bend of the road, the little village of Horze was 
revealed as a surprise to the eyes of the party ; a few cottages, a 
baker’s shop, a minister’s house, an inn, some stables, all scattered 
around a little church ; and Eline glanced round wonderingly — she 
did not see the village, she said. 

“ But here it is — there — that is the village,” said Otto. 

‘'What! That house and a half?” asked Eline, her eyes big 
with surprise. 


ELINE VERE. I95 

They all laughed, and Etienne asked her if she had expected to 
find a sort of Nice or Biarritz. 

“At least something like Scheveningen, with a Kurhaus — eh, 
Elly? I say, Elly, do you know the difference yet between rye 
and oats ? ” 

“Not quite. Buckwheat I know when I see it — flax I know, 
very light yellow — and potato-fields I know. But rye and oats and 
barley, no ; of them I know nothing whatever. Don’t worry me 
about them, Etienne ! But, Theodore, is this indeed Horze? Are 
you really lord and master of these — one, tNvo, three, four barns ? ” 

And she roared with laughter under the broad brim of her big 
straw hat ; and they all laughed at Eline’s innocent surprise, 
although Theodore felt a little hurt. 

Eline, however, quickly regretted her jest, which she felt was not 
quite in harmony, and she declared that it was full of picturesque 
spots, a little house like that with a cluster of trees, very pretty, 
really. 

“ And the big tree, where is the big tree ? ” asked Eline. 

They passed through the village, between the pecking fowls, which 
scampered away frightened, while the blacksmith and a couple of 
farmers, to each of whom Theodore addressed a few words, heartily 
greeted their landlord, remaining for a while staring after his 
guests. They crossed over a meadow, and Theodore shouted to 
a boy to hold a cow close by them, as Eline was afraid of the 
huge, fat beast, with its big, staring eyes and chewing mouth. 

“ Etienne, Cor — do leave off. Cor ! ” she cried, on Otto’s arm, to 
Etienne and Cor, who, to frighten the cow, set up a melancholy 
boo ! boo ! 

“ You see, Eline, that’s because you laughed at Horze,” cried 
Theodore in his big bass, but she looked at him laughingly and 
so softly between her half-closed lashes, that he was quite dis- 
armed, and asked Etienne and Cor to stop their silly noise. At 
the end of the meadow stood the big tree, an oak with a colossal 
stem, tall and powerful as a giant. Freddrique, Marianne, Henri- 
ette, and the children had already ensconced themselves between 
its spreading roots. Howard and Eline were urged on all sides 
to give vent to their admiration for the tree. Eline mustered forth 
a few words, such as colossal, immense ; but Theodore noticed from 
the mocking little smile that played on her features, that the oak 
had made no impression whatever upon her, and he held up his 


ELINE VERE. 


196 

finger to her threateningly, until she burst out in a peal of laughter, 
which was renewed when Howard, in a very serious tone, de- 
clared — 

A big tree, indeed ! I never saw such a big one ! Quite 
interesting ! ” 

“ Wait, I shall give it to you ! ” cried Theodore, and he ran after 
Eline, who fled shrieking with laughter until she fell down panting 
for breath on the grass, and holding out her hands, cried — 

Theodore, leave off, do you hear ? I shall call Otto ! ” 

“ ril show you ! you naughty girl ! Call Otto if you like. Ell 
show you ! ” and he grasped her wrists and shook her in fun, 
whilst she acted as if he hurt her terribly. Then he assisted her to 
rise, and she promised, still laughing, not again to show so little 
appreciation of the beauties of nature. 

The children with their English uncle were standing hand in 
hand, and trying to measure the tree. 

Absurd of Theodore to run after Eline like that," muttered 
Freddrique, and Etienne overheard her. 

‘‘ I say, you are getting tiresome,” he cried. “ Why, you can^t 
bear a joke any longer.” 

By the side of the little church there was a hilly pine wcod. 
There Eline sat down on the moss, and rested her head on her 
hand. Otto sat beside her. They could just hear the faint tinkling 
of a distant bell. It was church time. Some country people in 
glossy broadcloth and shining silk aprons were walking, prayer- 
book in hand, along the road, and Eline with her eyes followed them, 
themselves scarcely visible behind the close-standing stems. The 
scattered church-goers were feW in number ; a few — late-comers — 
followed hurriedly, and all was quiet under the peaceful influence 
of a rustic Sunday rest. In the distance was heard the bleating 
of a goat. 

It is true Eline had imagined the Horze more grandiose and 
luxurious, and the very simple life that was led at the country house 
made her smile at times when she called to mind Ouida’s English 
castles, full of dukes and princes, such as those in which she had 
her abode during her watch at Aunt Vere’s sick-bed. It was 
certainly very different, that splendour of an ideal aristocracy, and 
this simplicity of a well-to-do but necessarily frugal aristocracy, 
and yet she would not have exchanged her present circumstances 
for anything, and she talked smilingly to Otto about Ouida and 


ELINE VERE. 


197 

the English castles, and declared she gave the preference to the 
Horze, as she preferred him, her poor country squire, to the wealthy 
Scotch duke, after the type of an Erceldoune or a Strathmore, 
such as she used to dream about formerly. 

Yes ; Eline felt her happiness growing greater and greater in that 
peaceful solitude beneath the dark pine leaves, whilst Otto’s voice, 
deep and full, sounded in her ears. He told her how he could not 
yet understand that she was his for ever, and that ere long they 
should be as one ; and he told her that she had but one fault — 
that she misjudged herself. He, yes, he knew her as she really was ; 
he told her that there were latent treasures hidden within her, 
and that it would be his privilege to try and bring them to light. 
In the fullness of her happiness she became frank and outspoken, 
even to herself, as she never had been ; she looked at him almost 
pityingly, and answered that he would yet discover in her much 
that was bad, when he knew her belter. No, indeed, he did not 
thoroughly know her, although he thought so. There was so much 
going on in one’s heart that one could not always disclose ; at least, 
so it was in her case, and she must confess that her thoughts were 
not always of the best, neither was she always so even-tempered 
as she appeared to be whenever he saw her. She could be peevish, 
and nervous, and melancholy without real cause ; but certainly for 
his sake she would endeavour to transform herself into something 
like the image he had formed of her for himself ; but what an 
idealist he was ! She felt herself pure and good in that confession ; 
she knew now that she could freely reveal to him thoughts which 
she would not always have confessed to herself ; neither was she 
any more in fear of losing him through some careless word ; she 
saw how he loved her, and how she must be dearest to him in the 
moments when she spoke to him about herself in that simple way, 
and often it seemed to her as though he was her conscience, to 
which she could say all that a girl might say. And the more she 
depreciated herself in those moments of sincerity, the more he 
adored her, the more he thought he could read her very soul beneath 
that glamour of beauty and grace. 

They heard the hymns of the peasantry proceeding from the 
church, like a deep, broad stream of simple piety, and in their 
present mood that unskilled flood of song seemed full of a poetry 
that mingled with the poetry of the dark tints of the foliage, with 
the fragrance of the pine wood, with the love that was in their 


198 


ELINE VERE. 


hearts. And Eline felt her heart swell, and she raised herself up 
a little, and resting her curly little head on his bosom, she could 
not keep herself from twining her arms around his neck, and when 
she felt herself thus leaning against him with her bosom on his 
heart a sudden sob shook her. 

Eline, dearest, what — what is the matter?” he softly asked. 

“Nothing,” she answered, nearly dying in the exquisite ecstasy 
of her love and her great happiness ; “ nothing ; let me be — I am so 
— so happy ! ” 

And she lay weeping in his arms. 

At the Horze the hours of rising and bedtime were early, and 
the days fled by. The life there, with the exception of a few rainy 
days, was almost exclusively an open-air life. Their cheeks and 
their little hands were sunburnt, and they began to look like 
little negroes, the young van Ryssels, the two boys, Willy and 
Gustave, and Edmee and Kitty Howard. Among the pigeons 
which fluttered from their house over the lake they fluttered round, 
sometimes anxiously followed by Miss Frantzen, Truus’ governess, 
and Catherine’s English nurse; especially by Miss Frantzen, who 
was in constant fear at the thought of Nico and the water. They 
inspected the aviary and the stables, and were on the best of terms 
with the gardener and his men, with the coachman and the stable- 
boy. They fed the birds and the fowls and ducks, and rode round, 
firmly held by the good-natured stableman, on Theodore’s un- 
saddled riding-horse, or went swimming, or visited the gymnasium^ 
where they watched the feats of Theodore, who was very power- 
fully made, and of Howard, who was more lithe and supple, 
whilst Otto declared he had lost the art, and Etienne swung waldly 
from ring to ring and jumped over the vaulting-horse. But it 
was at Cor that the little van Ryssels stared in open-mouthed 
wonder, as they saw him, with a rather conceited expression, very 
calmly and deliberately go through the most difficult evolutions, 
in all the youthful strength of his long, slender limbs. After coflee 
the boys played cricket with Howard, or in the shade of the lofty 
trees in the park joined in lawn-tennis with the girls, or lay lazily 
under a tree with a book doing nothing at all, their hands folded 
behind their heads. After dinner they walked or floated about a 
little in the little boat on the lake, and the evening came, and it 
was ten o’clock ere they thought of it. 


ELINE VERB. 


199 


And her happiness, and the luxury of that sunny country life, 
made Eline feel so entirely herself, that she wondered whether she 
really were the same girl of some months before. She felt quite 
another being ; it seemed to her as if her soul had escaped from 
its glossy draperies, and now was before her in all its simplicity, 
in the nude whiteness of a statue. She no longer veiled herself in 
her affectation, she no longer played a part ; she was her own self^ 
her Otto’s darling, and this sincerity lent such a new charm to her 
movements, to the slightest word she uttered, that Truus, to the 
triumph of Catherine, admitted she had been mistaken in her ; 
that Freddrique would sometimes sit talking to her for hours, with 
sisterly frankness ; that Madame van Erlevoort called her an angel. 
When she was alone and for a while revelled in her fresh train of 
thoughts and emotions, the tears started to her eyes, in gratitude 
for all the good bestowed on her, and she only wished that time 
would not fly by, that the present moment might remain for ever. 
Beyond that she desired nothing, and around her there hovered an 
infinite rest, an ethereal calm, an ecstasy of bliss. 

They retired early at the Horze ; at half-past ten every one was 
at rest. Eline had been chatting for an hour in Frdderique’s room, 
and she felt happy at Frdderique’s ever-growing sympathy. She 
had been sitting on the edge of the bed, whilst Freddie was 
already inside it, and they had talked to each other about all kinds 
of matters. At times they laughed much, but subdued their 
laughter, for it was very quiet in the house. At length Eline softly 
slipped out on the tips of her toes, and once more found herself 
alone in her own little room. She lit her candle and slowly pro- 
ceeded to undress, with an unconscious and happy smile about 
her lips. For a moment she remained seated, and mused, with 
her thick hair hanging down, and her bare arms and throat, and 
the same smile still on her lips. She wished for nothing, nothing 
more, she had all that her heart desired. 

And she opened her window and looked out. The rain had 
ceased, and an odour of damp foliage was wafted towards her. 
The sky was clear, except for a few filmy cloudlets, and the brilliant 
crescent of the moon seemed as though placed in relief against the 
deep blue heavens ; the fields lay silently spread out before her ; a 
single little windmill lifted its black wings motionless in the pale 
moonlight ; the ditches gleamed like streaks of silver, and a fragrant 

14 


200 


ELINE VERE. 


freshness arose from the slumbering landscape, like a soft faint 
sigh. Eline leaned against the window, and folded her arms 
across her bare throat. To her it seemed as though that fragrant 
freshness, that faint sigh, refreshed and sweetened all her thoughts 
as with an odour of field flowers, that chased away the unhealthy, 
enervating miasma of her former emotions, like an overpowering 
perfume of musk and opoponax. She felt herself so young, as she 
had never felt before, and oh ! of that she was certain — never had 
she loved as she loved now — never, never ! Her Otto ! When 
she thought of him, she did not feel it necessary to call to her 
mind some idealized image ; she thought of him as he actually was, 
so manly and frank in his genial simplicity, and with one single 
thought that ruled his whole being, the thought of her. His love 
was so rich, so full, his love filled him completely. And hers grew 
every day, she thought — no, it could grow no more ! No further 
wish was hers, no more brooding over the future. In due course it 
would unfurl itself before her, a perspective glowing with brightness 
and gold ! Nothing more remained than the stillness of that lake 
into which her soul had glided, nothing besides the rest and the 
love of that blue ecstasy, full of bliss ! Only that, nothing else, 
nothing more ! What indeed could human soul yet wish for ? 

Only one little darkening streak amid all that blue. Only the 
fear — the fear that it would ever be different. It was so long since 
she had prayed, she did not even know howto pray; but now, 
now she would gladly have done so, have prayed that it would 
ever be thus, that it might never change, always that soft happiness, 
always that restfulness and peace, that blue ether. 

Never, never again as once ! God — ever thus, ever as now ! 
Were it to change, I should die,” she whispered inaudibly, and as 
she folded her hands a tear trembled on her lashes. But it was a 
tear of joy, for in her happiness that vague fear was dissolved like 
a drop in the ocean. 


ELINE VERE. 


201 


« 


CHAPTER XX. 

At the Hague, August passed by glowing hot, but the nights 
were cool on the terrace at Scheveningen, or in the tent of the 
Bosch. It was Sunday evening, and Betsy stayed at home ; old 
Madame van Raat had not been to see her for so long, that she 
asked her mother-in-law to come around ; Sunday was not much 
of a day at Scheveningen. They were to drink tea in the con- 
servatory, the glass doors of which were already open. Henk 
walked with Madame van Raat through the garden, and the old 
lady admired his splendid roses. Betsy and Vincent sat alone. 

“ I have had a letter from Eline : she is coming back with the 
Erlevoorts on Wednesday. The Howards will remain a little longer 
at the Horze,” she said. 

Indeed ? ” answered Vincent. “ And when Eline returns I must 
go, I suppose ? ” he asked bluntly. 

Betsy felt alarmed, but she smiled very pleasantly. 

“The idea ! Not at all. You know, our house is always open to 
you, until you have found something for yourself. Don’t you hear 
anything from — what is the name of that friend in New York ?” 

“ Lawrence St. Clare. No ; I have not heard anything from him 
for some time. You see one forgets one’s friends when they are so 
far away. I can’t blame him.” 

He leaned back in his cane chair with an air of something like 
resignation. In the meantime he felt himself very well at ease, 
and agreeably soothed by the luxury which surrounded him. The 
garden was well kept, rich in flowers and statuary. And in those 
surroundings, in the presence of Betsy, very elegant in her light 
summer dress, by the soft glitter of the silver and the Japanese 
porcelain, he felt himself safe against the many unpleasantnesses 
of life. It was rest, monotonous if you like, but soothing and re- 
freshing. Betsy he knew how to master, but it was unnecessary 
to make his power felt ; besides, he was too lazy for it. Was not 
his present life an easy one.^ what should he trouble himself 
about ? 

‘‘What would you say if I were to seek a wife?” he suddenly 
asked, inwardly thinking of the pleasures a wealthy marriage 
might provide him. 


202 


ELINE VERE. 


‘‘A wife ! oh, a splendid idea ! Shall I try and find one for you? 
What sort of one do you wish ? ” 

“ Handsome she need not be, only elegant. Not too unsophis- 
ticated or idealistic. Money of course.” 

*‘0f course. A foolish love-affair I certainly don’t look for in 
you. What do you think of the Eekhofs ? ’’ 

** Are you mad? two giggling ninnies — and no money, is there?” 

‘‘Some say there is, others declare that they live too extrava- 
gantly ; any way you might try and find out. But were you in 
earnest, Vincent, or was it only by way of saying something ? ” 

“ Not at all. I think I should do well if I married. Don’t you 
think I’m right ? ” 

Betsy looked at him searchingly, and her glance was full of secret 
contempt. With his lack-lustre eyes, his languid movements, his 
indolent voice, he did not much impress her as an ideal husband 
for a young girl. 

“ Not quite. I think you are a terrible egotist ; neither do I 
believe that a wife would find much support in you. You are weak 
— I mean morally, of course.” 

She soon regretted her words and felt irritated at her own 
imprudence. She nearly shuddered when he looked at her with 
that mysterious smile, with those soft, dull, snake-like eyes. 

“ And a wife has always need of support, eh ? ” he said in 
measured tones. “ You too, don’t you — you find your support in 
Henk ? you depend entirely upon him, and he is strong enough — I 
mean physically, of course ? ” 

Every word he uttered he emphasized as with a spiteful meaning, 
and every word pierced sharp as a needle into her domineering 
nature ; but she dared not answer him, she shrank back in fear 
and only smiled, as if he had merely made a jest. He too laughed, 
a kindly gentle laugh like hers, but full of veiled revengefulness. 

They were both silent for a while, conscious of the struggle under 
that outward show of good-nature, until Betsy began gently to 
murmur some complaints about old Madame van Raat, who always 
misunderstood her, and with whom she could never agree ; and whilst 
he sat indifferently listening to her, she felt how she abhorred him, 
how glad she would have been, after having him in the house for a 
month, to give him his congij but she knew that she could never 
do it without risking a terrible scene ; he would continue hanging 
about till the end of time, and she could not think of any means to j 


ELINE VERE. 


203 


get him away. It was all Henk’s fault; if he’d only given him 
that wretched little sum the idea would never have entered her 
mind to ask him into the house. She detested Vincent, and she 
detested herself for her fear of him. She was rich and happy ; what 
harm could he do her ? But the more she argued, the more the fear 
clung to her, like an enervating idiosyncrasy, of which she could not 
free herself. 

Madame van Raat and Henk were slowly returning from the 
garden, and they sat down in the conservatory at one of the open 
glass doors. But after a few words about the roses, the old lady 
grew quiet and pensive. Amid the luxury of her son’s house a 
certain chill, a vacuum, seemed to seize her and make her melan- 
choly, even more melancholy than she was in her own lonely 
house. She had never had that feeling before when she was with 
Henk ; but now it seemed as if her love for her son did not yield 
sufficient warmth to dispel that chill vacuum. And suddenly the 
truth struck her. She missed Eline — Eline who, wherever she went, 
beamed forth the light of her fascination ; she missed her dear child, 
so different from Betsy, so loving and sympathetic. And she could 
not help saying in her sad voice — 

“ Your house seems deserted without Elly. What will it be when 
she is married and gone away for good ? Dear Elly ! ” 

She did not hear what Betsy and Vincent answered ; she did not 
hear what Henk said ; she let her gray head fall upon her bosom 
and sat staring in front of her, the bony hands folded in her lap. 
Life seemed hollow to her, a gray existence full of grief, full of part- 
ings and tears, in which men hovered round, sombre and sad, like 
so many tragic phantoms. And she shuddered when Betsy asked 
her whether she was cold. 

Betsy, though she had never confessed it, had, just like her 
mother-in-law, in spite of Vincent, who “ was so sociable,” also 
found it lonely and miserable in the house. There was so little 
change in the summer; it was eternally the tent and eternally 
Scheveningen ; she was really getting sick of it. And now that 
Eline was back, beaming in her fresh happiness, which seemed to 
diffuse a rustic odour through Betsy’s drawing-room ; now that 
Eline was full of tales about the Horze, about Theodore and Truus 
and the children, about the Howards and the little van Ryssels, 
Betsy perceived that Madame van Raat was right— that Eline was 


204 


ELINE VERE. 


the charm of her house. Now Betsy herself commenced to look 
forward with some misgiving to the time when Eline would leave 
Jier, and that misgiving greatly softened her ordinary acerbity. 
Otto, whom she formerly thought too formal and affected, she 
thought charming, now that she frequently saw him, for she had 
insisted that he should often come to dinner. 

At table the conversation once more grew lively and cheerful, 
quite different from the slow, dragging discourse between herself, her 
husband, and Vincent. To Eline her manner became gentle, 
out of gratitude for the old pleasantness which she had brought 
back with her, and they held endless consultations about Eline’s 
trousseau^ which it was now time to see about, if she wanted to 
marry in the coming winter. Their afternoons they spent together 
with dressmakers and in shops ; they travelled together with Otto to 
Brussels, where Eline wanted to order her wedding-dress, rich but 
simple, nothing but white satin, without lace or furbelows. 

Eline in the meantime, in all this stir and bustle, had little time 
left her for thinking, and only in the evening did she get any rest. 
In the evening they often stayed at home. It was September. 
Scheveningen gradually lost its attractions, and now that Otto 
came to dinner it generally grew late without their noticing it. 
She sat with him in the garden, or in the violet boudoir, and she 
became quite used to her calm happiness ; it seemed in fact as if 
she had never known anything different. Everything was so restful 
and contented within her, that she almost longed for some emotion. 
But no, she loved Otto ; that single emotion sufficed for her. 
Never anything but that ; always that calm, always that blue 
ether ! 


ELINE VERE. 


205 


CHAPTER XXI. 

Georges de Woude van Bergh studied hard for his examina- 
tion for Vice-Consul, and one day Emilie had betaken herself to the 
Verstraetens’ and had a long talk with Mr. and Madame Verstraeten, 
whilst Lili, very nervous and unhappy, had found much comfort in 
Emilie. Emilie had laughingly apologized for her unceremonious 
visit ; but really her aged father was ailing and never went out, and 
she managed everything for him, took everything off his hands, 
even to a request for access for his son. No ; she was certainly 
not of Georges’ thinking, that one could live without money, and 
quite understood that Mr. and Madame Verstraeten also could not 
harbour such an idea ; but after all the boy had a prospect, had he 
not ? and the pair of them seemed to have so much set their minds 
upon that folly, that one could not talk them out of it. The question 
really was, had Mr. and Madame Verstraeten any personal objec- 
tion to him, or would they permit the two to wait until they could 
begin life together without too great a risk of starvation ? Would 
Mr. and Madame Verstraeten be able, at a given moment, to part 
with Lili ? And if they did not quite refuse, how would they decide ? 
A regular engagement, or only a— well, a union of hearts, nothing 
more? It was a pity, certainly, that the two had made themselves 
somewhat conspicuous, and that the whole town knew of it, but they 
were a pair of unsophisticated children, and in time they would be 
more prudent. The question now was — and Emilie summarized 
her questions once more with her genial hearty manner, but inwardly 
a little anxious about the reply. 

And Madame Verstraeten sighed and shook her head thought- 
fully ; but the old gentleman, to Emilie’s joy, did not make any 
insurmountable objections. But still he had his objections. Lili 
was so young, such a child ; would it not be better if she did not 
bind herself yet, and took time to make sure that he was Mr. 
Right ? He liked de Woude very much ; he had noticed too that 
the boy had something in him ; but still, were not his optimistic 
financial ideas based rather too much on his love ? Had he really 
no more wants than now in the blindness of his affection he 
imagined? He was used to a certain degree of luxury. Emilie 
listened attentively, fully convinced of all those difficulties, about 


2o6 


ELINE VERE. 


which she had once spoken to him herself. But now — now she 
had allowed herself to be persuaded into the folly of this visit, 
and she did not want to be faithless to her boy ; now she wanted 
to make it appear as if all those difficulties merely existed in Mr. 
Verstraeten’s mind, and so she would endeavour to remove them. 
Thus it was ever. When one had committed one absurdity, one 
fell from one folly into another, and now she would be compelled to 
argue against her own convictions. It was a difficult task, talk as 
she might, and it was perhaps to her Georges’ misfortune that she 
could plead so well ; but dear me, the boy was so smitten, and per- 
haps after all he was right ! There were other little households 
that were not rich — small officials, sub-lieutenants. No, no; at 
bottom she was really committing an absurdity ; but it could not be 
helped, it was too late. 

And while she pleaded for Georges, she was inwardly angry that 
he had brought her to do such a thing. Could she, then, refuse 
that boy nothing, and must she herself be a party to bring about 
his ruin ? 

But she kept her word, and pleaded so well that Madame 
Verstraeten went to fetch Lili, who wept bitterly and kissed Emilie 
fondly. But an engagement was out of the question for the present 
Madame Verstraeten did not care about these poor folks’ en- 
gagements, which sometimes lasted for years, and Emilie declared 
to Lili that a union of hearts, sanctioned by her parents, meant 
much already, under the existing circumstances. It was better so, 
after all, was it not ? If on further acquaintance they did not suit 
each other, there would be no harm done ; and if they grew to like 
each other more and more — well, so much the better. Come ; 
she should not look at it too gloomily, the victory gained over the 
steel-clad hearts of her parents was not an unimportant one. And 
what more did she really want ? To marry at once — reception 
to-morrow — in a day or two to the Stadhuis and the church, and 
then make their entry in a little attic somewhere ! Yes j that 
would be very nice ! 

Lili laughed between her tears, and kissed her parents; whatever 
papa and mamma thought fit, she was satisfied. 

That afternoon Georges was asked to dinner, and after the meal 
a splendid September night was spent in the garden. It was late 
when Georges left ; late when Marie and Lili retired to their room 
jind undressed. Marie listened kindly and patiently to Lili’s 


ELINE VERE. 


207 


chattering about hundreds of plans for the future. She would 
love to travel, and Georges^ employment gave promise of that. 
Snugly she crept into the cool sheets, smiling at the rosy visions of 
her fancy, her arms bent over the little head encircled by its dis- 
hevelled mass of fair hair. Marie too crept into bed, and for a 
moment all was quiet in the dark room, when there was a gentle 
knocking at the door, which the next moment was opened. The 
girls started in alarm. 

“ Hush, hush ! his only me,” whispered a soft, subdued voice, 
and they saw a small, bent figure in white night-gown and cap, 
with a lighted candle in hand, enter the room. “ Hush ! I was 
only coming for a little chat.” 

It was old Dien, the ancient servant of the Verstraetens^, the 
good-natured old body who was always so handy when they had 
parties or tableaux-vzvants. She approached, treading softly in 
her stockings, while the candle-light reflected a yellow glow on her 
shrivelled, white-capped face. 

“ But, Dien, you frighten me ! You look like a ghost ! ” cried Marie. 

“ Hush, quiet ! They are all in bed ; but I thought you wouldn’t 
be asleep yet. I want to have a little chat — may I ? ” 

‘‘ Certainly, Dien ; certainly you may,” said Dili with animation. 

What have you got to say 1 ” 

Dien seated herself on the edge of Dili’s bed. 

“ You can understand, old Dien is not so old but she can tell 
when there’s something stirring. And you see, when she does 
notice it, she can’t keep it to herself ; she must out with it. You 
little rascal ! ” She held up her finger to Dili threateningly. 

“ What is it, ,Dien ? ” asked Dili. 

“ Come, deary, now don’t you keep yourself so innocent ! Do 
you think I don’t know why you cried as you did this afternoon, 
and why Miss Emilie made such a long stay in the conservatory ? 
You see I thought there was something then,” she continued, 
winking her sunken eye, ‘‘ and I began thinking to myself, and 
there you are — at half -past five in he marches, and stops nicely to 
dinner, eh ? ” 

“ Get along, Dien ; what are you prattling about ?” 

No, no ; Dien doesn’t prattle. Dien knows what she knows 
well enough. And you too, you know what you’re about.” 

“ What is it then ? ” 

“ Well, child, you are quite right. There’s a steady boy he is. 


2o8 


ELINE VERE. 


Such a nice, gentle little face, with a neat little fair moustache. 
A proper little hubby for you. You are rather dainty yourself. 
They are well matched — eh, Miss Marie?” 

“ Cut out for each other,” yawned Marie from between her sheets. 

“ You like him then ? ” 

“Rather !” answered Dien. “And he is always so polite to me 
and Bet. He always says it so nicely when I open the door to him : 
* Ah, Dien, how are you ? ' Always a word or two to say, you know. 
Not a bit proud, and he never forgets to wipe his feet.” 

Dili roared. 

“You aren’t angry because I say so ?” 

“No, not at all, Dien; I am very glad he is in your good 
books.” 

“Sleep you won’t for yet awhile, eh? You see, in the day- 
time I am always too busy, and now it’s just a nice time for a 
snug chat. And Dien may give you a bit of advice, eh? You 
see, I have been married too, and it isn’t all honey, child. Yes ; 
at first you think ’tis very nice to play the wifie, but later on come 
the youngsters, and the cares come with them ; I have had three 
of them you see. And what a bother it is to bring them up ! And 
you know I haven’t had much pleasure of them. One died, a boy, 
when he was fourteen, and the other wasn’t quite what he ought 
to be, and went to the Indies. Only my girl — yes, she’s a good 
girl; you know, she’s in Rotterdam, married to a tailor.” 

“Yes, Dien.” 

“ And, I say, when do you think you will marry ? ” 

“ Oh, Dien ! really I don’t know yet. We won’t get married for 
a long while yet, and you mustn’t chatter about it ; do you hear?” 

“ No, no ; don’t you fear. You see. Bet too, she isn’t blind 
either. Do you think it will be a twelvemonth yet ? ” 

“ Oh, quite. But come, Dien, go to bed now.” 

“ Yes, deary. But you see, when the youngsters come, those little 
fair-haired dots— you are both of you so fair— I shall leave your 
ma, and come to stay with you. What do you say to that ?” 

“ What, as nursemaid ? No, thank you, you will be much too 
old for that then.” 

“ Oh ! I should wash and scrub them nicely, don’t you fear ! ” 

“ Dien, I think you are saying improper things ! ” cried Marie. 
“Fie!” 

“ What is there improper in that ? But come, I must be off ; 


ELINE VERE. 


209 


Avhy, it’s half-past twelve. And do you hear, Miss Marie, you must 
make haste and have your turn — that little dot has stolen a march 
on you ; don’t you lag behind now, do you hear ? Will you see 
to it?” 

“Yes, Dien ; I shall do my best,” said Marie. 

“ Then dream about it nicely. And you too, deary, you dream 
about him. And tell him that Dien thinks him a nice boy, with 
his little moustache — will you, eh ? Will you, you little rascal?” 

She grasped Lili, who again roared with laughter, jestingly by 
the shoulders. 

“ Yes, yes, Dien, I shall. But you need not shake me like that — 
ooh ! Good-night, Dien.” 

“Good-night, little pets. Hush, child, don’t laugh like that. 
You will wake the old folks. Hush, hush ! I am going — quiet 
now ! ” 

Dien left, looking yellowish-white in the glow of the candle, with 
a final wink, full of mystery, her footsteps quite muffled by her 
woollen stockings. 

“ That silly Dien ! ” lisped Lili, still laughing, and half asleep. 

The room was once more in darkness, and it was quiet, very 
quiet, and Marie lay with her head on her pillow, her wide-open 
eyes fixed on the dark ceiling. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

Vincent felt very ill and weak, and his condition became so 
serious that Dr. Reyer forbade him to leave his room. 

He followed the doctor’s advice, drinking little, abstaining 
from smoking, and giving himself over completely to the soothing 
influence of the restful atmosphere that surrounded him. 

His days he passed in Eline's boudoir, as Betsy could not spare 
him a sitting-room to himself. There he would lie down on the 
Persian divan, an Eastern dressing-gown snugly wrapped about him 
— a memento of his days of luxury in Smyrna — his bloodless fingers 
clasping a book in which he did not read a line. It seemed to him 


210 


ELINE VERE. 


as though all ideas had vanished from his brain, as if, in fact, his whole 
being was fading away in a languid calm, in a sense of weariness 
like that induced by prolonged and severe bodily exertion. His 
mind was filled with petty, childish thoughts, rising up like bubbles, 
to burst asunder the next moment. His pleasures were as petty 
as his thoughts, and he felt gratified when Dr. Reyer praised him 
for his obedience, while he suffered acutely whenever he had to 
wait a few moments for Eline to bring him his breakfast. And 
beyond that he felt nothing; he simply lay down, gazing round 
Eline’ s room, and counting the pictures, the ferns, and all the 
smaller objects of luxury that were scattered about. 

In the morning Eline sat down beside him and read to him or 
sang a snatch or two from a favourite opera ; and Vincent would 
lie and listen as in a dream, lost in a strange vision full of faint 
odours and subdued tints, all wreathed and entwined one with 
another as in a kaleidoscope of colour and perfume. He did not 
speak, and Eline too said little, penetrated as she was with a feeling 
of romantic joyfulness, a joyfulness such as she had known when 
keeping her nightly vigil at Aunt Vere’s bedside — the pleasure of 
devoting herself to the care of an invalid. She became more and 
more interested in Vincent, and the loving care with which she 
tended him gradually had the effect of deeply endearing him to her. 

In the afternoon she usually stayed at home until after four, when 
Otto came to fetch her for a walk; and then, when he gently 
rebuked her for not taking sufficient care of her own health, and 
for sacrificing herself too much for Vincent, she would look at him 
almost tearfully and ask how he could possibly fail to feel the 
deepest sympathy for Vincent, who was so forsaken, so unhappy, 
and so weak. The busy negotiations about her trousseau with 
Betsy w’ere somewhat interrupted by these cares, and on one 
occasion even she remarked to her sister that she thought it a 
terrible thing to have to marry in November, when Vincent would 
perhaps be dying. She could not help fancying that Vincent’s 
illness was caused by a secret passion for her, a passion the secret 
of which he had until now most jealously kept. For he had never 
before made such a long stay in the Hague ; he had now been in 
the city for nearly a year, whilst he never used to remain longer 
than a week or two. Poor Vincent — for the present her watchful 
care of him brought him solace and comfort — only, would not all 
that careful solicitude, those constant attentions on her part towards 


ELINE VERE. 


2II 


him, feed the flame of that passion that was for ever destined to 
be so helpless, as it was only her Otto she might care for, no one 
else ? She would have been glad could she have confessed those 
thoughts to another ; but to whom could she do so ? To speak to 
Otto about it, that seemed to her scarcely proper; whilst if she 
made Betsy her confidante, she was certain to ask her why she 
must always fill her head with such nonsense. How about Madame 
van Raat though ? 

Yes, she was the person to consult ; she would call on Madame 
van Raat one morning alone, without Otto. But when she did 
see the old lady, she found it such a difficult matter to shape her 
suspicions about Vincent in words, that when her visit came to an 
end she had not uttered a syllable of her confession. And she 
comforted herself with the sad reflection that Vincent would 
probably die before they were married, and that in that case her 
ministering care would have somewhat sweetened his last days. 

The days passed by, and in the meantime the suspicion that 
Vincent cherished a secret passion for her grew more and more into a 
certainty, until she began as it were, involuntarily, to yield herself up 
to an absorbing pity for her poor ailing cousin. Her happiness, that 
had seemed so placid that it could not be broken, glided more and 
more from the vain grasp of her fingers, and a sense of nervousness 
and unrest became daily more diffused over her being, while in the 
meantime she lacked the courage to unbosom herself to Otto ; for 
when she thought of Vincent, a mist appeared to come between 
herself and Ctto, a mist that grew denser and denser and threatened 
to part them from each other. She shuddered at the thought, and 
after having passed half the day in her nervous unrest by Vincent’s 
side, she would long to be again with Otto, in whose placid tempera- 
ment she hoped to find a healing balm for her perturbed spirit. 
Soon after four he came, they went for a walk together, he returned 
with her to dinner, in the evening they often stayed at home, they 
were much alone together, and when at night he was gone and she 
had retired to her room, she had to do her utmost to restrain herself 
from bursting into tears, for she found that she no longer drew from 
his presence that restfulness and peace which once it had brought 
her. On the contrary, now and then his calmness even irritated 
her, as something indifferent and phlegmatic, which, in her present 
mood, brimming over as it was with unrest, repelled her, especially 
when she contrasted him with Vincent, in whom she suspected a 


212 


ELINE VERE. 


world of still, agonizing grief was hidden. Even Otto’s simple 
ease, beneath which only so recently she had seen such a Avealth 
of love, irritated her now. 

Would he never then burst forth in a storm of passion, in a tem- 
pestuous torrent about — about anything, whatever it was ? Would 
he ever remain so calm, so placid, so eternally equable ? did he then 
never feel conscious of something struggling with something else 
within his heart, something that boiled and seethed within him^ 
and which must pour itself forth in a torrent of words ? Could 
nothing move him, nor rouse him from that rest which seemed all 
but lethargy ? Kind and affectionate, yes, that he was, but he was 
incapable of deep feeling ; perhaps his calmness was nothing but 
egoism after all, an egoism which another’s grief was powerless to 
move ! 

Thoughts such as these made Eline feel wretched and unhappy. 
Oh, great heavens ! they were the spectres, the grim spectres, that 
were fast crowding in around her. No, no, they should not drag 
her along with them, she would scare them away, away ; but in 
vain, still they rose up, one after another, chilling her with their 
icy breaths of gruesome doubts, and she struggled against them — a 
fearful struggle ! She forced herself to think again those sweet 
thoughts which had filled her with an idyllic happiness during her 
stay at the Horze ; she forced herself once more to find back her 
placid peacefulness, her ethereal ecstasy — ^but alas, it was in vain ! 
And when she began to feel conscious of that one sleepless night, 
when a deep silence prevailed throughout the house, and when she, 
with great staring eyes, was lying so lonely on her bed ; when for 
the first time she felt conscious of that, in all its cruel truth, and 
felt that those days had passed away for ever, that they would 
never more smile upon her with their golden glory of light and joy, 
then at last she burst out in a wild, tempestuous sobbing, so tem- 
pestuous and wild as she had never sobbed before, and in her 
passionate outburst she flung herself upon her pillow as though 
that were her happiness, as though that were the bird that slipped 
through her fingers. She shook her head — no, no, she would, she 
must be happy again as before, she would, she would love her 
Otto, as she did before in the pine wood — love him ! No, it was 
impossible, it must not, it should not be — she would, would 
force herself, with all the strength and energy of her will, to 
continue to love him, as she had done hitherto ; she would still 


ELINE VERE. 


213 


cling close to him, as she now clung to her pillow and the grue- 
some, grinning spectres should not be able to tear him from her 
arms. All remained silent in the house ; only, there she heard the 
big clock in the kitchen down-stairs, tick, tick, unceasingly, and an 
intense terror seized her as she listened to that hard, metallic, 
rhythmic sound. A terror lest her happiness should not allow 
itself to be forced back into her soul ; a terror lest some invisible 
power should push her down, down along some steep sloping path, 
while she would fain ascend upward, ever upward. And then 
followed a fury, a tempestuous fury, because she felt it so plainly, 
and yet would not feel, and because she remained too weak to 
make a strong, decided effort to resist the encroachment of the 
unseen powers that ever seemed to mock and taunt her. 

The next morning Eline went early to see Vincent ; she wanted 
to hand him a big letter that had come for him. He was lying as 
usual in his Turkish dressing-gown on the divan. Still, slowly and 
gradually, he was recovering ; Dr. Reyer had even told him that 
he might take a little walk, but the rest had become dear to him, 
and he answered that he did not yet feel equal to walking. When 
Eline entered he gave her a friendly nod ; he had grown used to 
her thousand little cares, and he felt grateful to her for them, and 
this gratitude brought a kindly glow into his eyes which Eline 
mistook for love. She handed him the letter and asked how he 
felt. 

“ Pretty well. I am getting on gradually,” he said wearily, but 
suddenly he raised himself up and quickly tore open the envelope. 
Eline was about to sit down at the piano. 

“ Ah, at last ! ” she heard Vincent exclaim almost joyfully. 

It is from New York, from Lawrence St. Clare ! ” said Vincent, 
quickly reading through the letter. He has found something for 
me — a place at a good business house.” 

Eline felt suddenly alarmed. 

And what do you think of doing ? ” she asked. What do you 
mean? ” 

To go as soon as I am better, but — but I am not, and I am 
afraid I shall not be yet awhile,” he concluded languidly. 

To go where— to America ? ” 

Yes — certainly.” 

“ Are you glad you can go, then ? 


214 


ELINE VERE. 


“Cf course; why should I hang about here any longer now 
that I can get a situation ? ” 

He scarcely thought of what he said. He fell back in the 
Persian cushions, and a maze of bright-hued visions rose before his 
mind. He remembered his former life of endless change, of ever- 
changing perspective and glimmering horizon — change was life, 
change it was that would cure, that would rejuvenate him. 

Eline, however, felt deep pity for Vincent. Yes, indeed, he was 
very pleased that he could go, before her wedding most likely, so 
that he need not be witness of what to him was probably a very 
painful sight. Yes, indeed he loved her — and suffered accordingly. 

Vincent,” she said at last. 

‘‘V/ell?” 

“Vincent, really — ^just think about it, don’t be too rash — you are 
still so weak. Suppose you should have a relapse ? Ask Reyer’s 
advice first.” 

“ But, Elly, haven’t I always been as I am now ? I never was 
robust, and — and you don’t want to keep me ; besides, and what if 
I do stay here ? ” he asked with a smile. 

To her that smile seemed sad and forced, and she reproached 
herself for endeavouring to keep him there. No, he must go; 
only, maybe perhaps things would change — change so that he 
need not go at all. She felt giddy, and it all began to dance and 
shimmer before her eyes — the thought that rose to her mind, she 
dared not think. It would be too terrible. Too terrible for Otto, 
too terrible also for herself. That day, when Otto came, Eline 
felt, instead of the usually so grateful warmth which his presence 
had at one time called forth in her heart, nothing but an icy indiffer- 
ence. Oh, God, how did that come about, how did that warmth 
chill down like that ? She did not know, but so it was, and she 
had not the power to change it. She gave him a friendly nod, 
and held out her hand to him. She could not look him in the face, 
but her heart was deeply moved with pity. There he stood, Otto, 
by her side, his gentle, kindly glance fixed upon her, her hand in 
his, as he leaned against the back of her chair. Yes, there he stood 
by her side, he full of love, and she— she felt nothing but cold, 
chilly indifference! No, a thousand times no I it might not, it 
should not be, she would force herself, she pitied him too much. 

“ Nily— what is the matter, child ? ” he asked softly, as he felt the 
nervous pressure of her fingers on his hand. 


ELINE VERE. 


215 


“ Oh— nothing — nothing, only a headache, I think,” she answered 
faltering, and she looked at him for the first time that afternoon. 
His eyes looked deep into hers, and she was on the point of flinging 
herself in wild remorse on his bosom, to cling to him and never to 
release her hold. But again that unseen power withheld her. 

Is it no longer to be forced back.? Will it never come.?” she 
thought hopelessly. They remained alone, and it was some little 
time yet before dinner should be ready. 

Nily — little woman, tell me, aren’t you well?” he asked anxiously. 
“Your hand is cold.” 

“I am a little feverish — we have been out driving in an open 
carriage with Vincent.” 

» “ I hope you are not going to be ill.” 

“ Oh, no ; it will pass over.” 

She looked at him smilingly, and all at once, in a rush of despair, 
she flung both her arms round his neck. 

“ You are so kind, so loving,” she whispered in a broken voice. 
“You are so kind, and— I am so fond, so very fond of you.” 

Vincent did not yet feel strong enough to join them at dinner 
that day. At table Betsy was telling Otto of the letter from 
America ; Vincent was about to get a situation in New York. 

“ And when does he intend to go ? ” 

“ As soon as he is better. I shall be thankful enough when he 
is gone.” 

Eline could no longer contain herself. 

“ Reyer says he must not think of such a thing for some weeks 
yet ! ” she said sharply, with an angry glance at Betsy. “ But of 
course ” 

“ Of course what ? ” 

“If it were not for the sake of decency, you would, ill as he is, 
turn him out of doors.” 

“If I could — yes, I should certainly. And once for all,, this I 
tell you, he shall never come here again. Fancy hanging about 
here like this ! ” 

“ But, Betsy— he is nearly dying !” cried Eline, trembling with rage. 

“ Oh, nonsense ! ” 

“What’s nonsense? If you saw him as I do,” she screamed. 

“ Never mind, Eline, don’t let us fall out about Vincent. The 
fellow isn’t worth it. Why, you make a melodrama of it. Don’t 
make such an exhibition of yourself, for goodness’ sake.” 

^5 


2I6 


ELINE VERE. 


“ Yes, I know ; * Don’t make an exhibition of yourself.’ That’s 
what I always get treated to when I show a little feeling. But 
you — you have no heart — you ” 

“ Eline,” said Otto softly. 

Gerard was coming in with the joint. The silence was painful. 

You have forgotten the gravy, Gerard,” said Betsy. 

Gerard left the room. 

** Yes, you — why you would tread a person underfoot if he were 
only ever so little in your way, if he upset you in the least in your 
brutal egoism ! You think of no one but yourself, and you can’t 
even understand that everybody else is not equally despicable, 
and ” 

“ Eline ! ” said Otto again, as Gerard was coming in once more, 
this time with a gravy tureen. 

“ Oh, hold your tongue do, with your ‘ Eline ! Eline ! ’ Qu’est- 
ce que me fait cet homme ! Betsy ne veut pas le voir — mais je 
t’assure, que Vincent se meurt. II s’est endormi dans ma chambre, 
pale comme un linge, essouffld par la fatigue, que lui a causd cette 
stupide promenade recommandde par Reyer. Et c’est pour cela, 
que je ne veux pas souffrir, qu’on Taccuse d’indiscrdtion et de tout 
cela. S’il ne fut pas si malade, il ne resterait pas longtemps chez 
nous — ^j’en suis sure ... !” 

She spoke passionately, with eyes aflame with rage, and the 
French words fell from her lips sharp and cutting as needles, 
haughty and savage. 

Betsy, too, was boiling with rage. Gerard left the room, but she 
made no reply and restrained herself. 

*‘Nily, dear,” said Otto, “I bear Vincent no ill-will, although I 
don’t feel much sympathy with him, but still I shall be glad too 
when he is gone.” 

“ Indeed — you too, eh ?” she hissed. 

‘‘May I finish?” he resumed, clasping her icy hand in his. 
“Yes, I shall be glad when he goes, at least if his presence in the 
house is able to excite you like this. You are quite beside yourself. 
You don’t know what you are saying, Nily ; at least not with what 
force you are speaking.” 

His quiet words drove her frantic. 

“ And you — you — with your eternal calmness, your eternal phleg- 
matic calmness ! ” she burst, nearly shrieking, as she rose from the 
table and flung down her serviette. “It drives me mad— that 


ELINE VERE. 


217 


calmness ! Great heavens, it drives me mad ! Betsy crushes me 
with her egoism, and you with your calmness — with your calm- 
ness, yes, your calmness ! I — I — I can’t bear it any longer — it 
suffocates me ! ” 

“ Eline ! ” cried Otto. 

He rose and grasped her wrists, and looked her straight in the 
eyes. She expected something very terrible, that he would fling 
her down, strike her. But while he continued to hold her hands 
he only shook his head slowly, and his voice sounded full of sorrow, 
as he simply said — 

‘‘ Eline ! — for shame ! ” 

** Great '^God ! I — I am going mad ! ” she screamed in a fit of 
sobbing, and she tore herself away from his grasp, and rushed out 
of the room, as she went, dragging some glasses from the table, 
which fell with a tinkling noise in shatters on the ground. 

Betsy trembled with rage, and wanted to run after Eline. Otto, 
however, stayed her. 

“ Let her be, I beg of you ! ” he entreated. 

Henk too had risen, and when Gerard came in they all three 
felt very much confused before the servant, about the abruptly 
interrupted dinner, and about the shattered glass. 

“ Never mind — never mind, Gerard ! ” said Betsy almost humbly, 
“ never mind. Clear the table.” 

It was impossible for them to assume a nonchalant air. Gerard 
must have noticed that there was something wrong, though his face 
remained ever so calm and dignified. 

Eline in the meantime had rushed up-stairs into her bedroom 
and thrown herself on her bed. Then she began to sob — but Vincent 
must not hear it. She sobbed and sobbed until it grew dark ; 
then she heard Vincent walking in the adjoining room, but she lay 
still and wrung her hands and choked the sobs in her bosom. 

Otto had sat down in the drawing-room, and was staring with 
moist eyes on the ground when Henk entered. He noticed a tear 
in Otto’s eye, and Henk was roused from his wonted quiet kindli- 
ness, and began to boil within him. 

Erlevoort ! ” said he, and laid his hand on Otto’s shoulder. 

Otto lifted up his head. 

“ Erlevoort ! come, old chap, be a man ! Sissy is sometimes an 
awkward little craft to manage, but she is not bad at heart ! You 


2I8 


ELINE VERE. 


must not take notice of what she said to you, do you hear ? She 
was only angry with Betsy, because she rather likes Vincent, and 
so by accident you got your share of it. But you must take no 
notice of it. That’s the best way to punish her.” 

Otto did not answer ; his mind was too much filled with doubt 
that Henk’s kindliness could have cheered him. He recollected 
how he had once told Eline that she had but one single fault, that 
she did not know herself, that there were hidden treasures within 
her, that he would arouse those latent gifts, but now he saw but 
too well that he had not the power to do so, that he only irritated 
her, and — that he drove her mad ! 

“ She can be confoundedly hasty at times ! ” resumed Henk, as 
he walked inwardly enraged up and down the room. ** But anyone 
whom she likes, and whom she can look up to, can lead her easily 
enough, and then — Shall I go and have a talk to her ? ” 

‘‘ I should — let — her be ! ” replied Otto, speaking with difficulty. 

I dare say she will herself ” 

He tried to think himself in her place, and to guess how she now 
felt. But it was in vain, he could not think, he still smarted too 
much under the blow she bad given him. Never had he heard her 
utter such words before, in that strident, shrieking voice; never 
before had he seen her features so distorted — even to ugliness — by 
her passions ; and try as he might, he could not collect his thoughts 
under that great torturing grief that cut him to the quick. 

It pained Henk to see his weary, hopeless attitude. And suddenly 
he felt himself nerved to action. No, he would not permit it, that 
Eline should thus treat Otto with contempt, he would not permit 
it. With a firm and elastic step he left the room. Henk went 
up-stairs and entered Eline’s boudoir. He found no one there, 
for Vincent, tired as he was after his first trip, had already gone 
into his bedroom, quite unconscious of the storm that had been 
raging down-stairs. Henk knocked at Eline’s door. 

Eline ! ” he called. 

There was no answer, and he quietly opened the door. On the 
floor lay Eline, her slight form quivering with inaudible sobs, her 
face hidden in her hands. He waited for a moment, but she did 
not move. 

“ Eline, get up ! ” he said curtly, almost commandingly. 

Savagely she lifted herself up, and savagely she shrieked-— 

What is it ? What do you want here ? Go away.” 


ELINE VERB. 


219 


** Get up.’* 

“ I won’t ; go away, go away ! I tell you, go away ! *’ 

He bent over her and grasped her wrists, full of a passion that 
made the blood rush to his face. He hurt her, and she gave a cry 
of pain. 

‘‘ Confound it ! Will you get up ? ” he hissed between his teeth, 
almost beside himself with rage, while he drew her up savagely. 
His flushed face, his flaming eyes, and hissing voice terrified her. 
Falteringly she let him pull her from the floor. 

“What do you want?” she asked once more, but calmer this 
time, and with apparent haughtiness. 

“ I shall tell you what I want. I want you to go at once — at 
once, do you hear — to Erlevoort and ask his pardon. Perhaps you 
don’t remember what you have been saying in your mad passion, 
but you have offended him deeply, you have insulted him. Go, and 
at once 1 ” 

She looked at him in much alarm. His determined, commanding 
tones made her tremble, and she was speechless with terror as 
she saw him, with his big powerful form, pointing to the door. 

“ You will find him down-stairs in the drawing-room. Are you 
going now ? ” 

She trembled all over, but she would not let him triumph. 

“ I won’t.” 

“ If you won’t, I >hall drag you down the stairs until you He at 
his feet. I swear I shall do it, I swear I shall ! ” he hissed syllable 
by syllable into her face. 

She stepped back in alarm. 

Henk ! ” she cried, shocked that he durst say such a thing 
to her. 

“ Are you going ? ” 

ft Yes yes, I will go, but— Henk ! Oh, don’t, don’t speak like 

that to me ! Why should you ? Great heavens ! am I not un- 
happy enough already?” 

That is your own fault, your own doing, but that is no reason 
why you should make another unhappy too, especially Erlevoort.” 

“ Yes, yes, you are right,” she sobbed, quite broken at last. “ I 
will go, but come with me, come with me, Henk.” 

He supported her as he took her from the room and led her 
down the stairs. But when she entered the drawing-room she 
felt frightened. There was no one there but Otto, who was seated 


220 


ELINE VERE. 


on the sofa, leaning his head in his hands. For a moment she 
stood still, undecided what to do, but Henk looked at her, and his 
glance and also the sight of Otto^s silent despair caused her to 
hesitate no longer. She fell on her knees before him and wanted 
to s:iy something, but she was unable to utter a single word for 
violent sobbing, which at length seemed to melt away in a copious 
stream of tears. She laid her throbbing, glowing head on his 
knees, and took his hand, and sobbed and sobbed until her heart 
nearly broke. He did not speak either, and looked her deep in 
the eyes. 

At last, with a great effort, she could just say, while Henk re- 
mained standing like her judge behind her — 

“ Forgive me, Otto, forgive me, forgive me.’^ 

He nodded his head, slowly and softly, not quite satisfied with 
her remorse, feeling, so to speak, disappointed with something in 
her manner, which was not what he had expected, but he bent over 
her, drew her towards him, and kissed her forehead. 

“ Forgive me, Otto, do forgive me.” 

He softly clasped his arm around her, and pressed her for a 
moment to his bosom, while she still continued her sobbing, and 
he closed his eyes in order to prevent the tears from penetrating 
through his eyelashes. For he knew it, he felt it — it was all over. 

The evening passed by somewhat gloomily, although Henk, in 
his frank, kindly tones, assured him that it was all right again. Of 
Eline he took his leave with a sad smile. Eline then begged 
Betsy's pardon in presence of Henk. Betsy gave her a little nod 
of approval and said nothing. And afterwards when Henk told 
her how he had forced her to go to Erlevoort, she looked at him 
almost with admiration — for she would never have thought that 
in a struggle with Elirie her husband would prove the stronger of 
the two. 

Some weeks sped by, and day by day Eline found herself more 
and more unhappy, for she felt that all was over, that she could 
not force herself to love Otto, and she nearly died with grief under 
the reproach of his sad smile. And one afternoon she kept her 
room, and told Mina to say that she was ill, and was not coming 
down-stairs. Otto asked if he might come and see her in her room, 
but she sent word that she was tired and needed rest. And 
gradually, but distinctly, a determination became fixed in her mind : 


ELINE VERB. 


221 


she must do it, she owed it to his happiness and her own. The 
next day she would not receive him either, much as Henk urged 
her to do so. She only shook her head slowly ; she could not do it. 
She was ill. Reyer.? No, she did not want him. And she kept 
to her room, while Otto dined down- stairs with Betsy, Vincent, and 
Henk, and left early. 

That evening she remained for a long time lying on her sofa, 
staring into the darkness. At last she lit the gas, closed the 
curtains, and sat down at her writing-table. It must be. Calmly 
and determinedly she commenced to write, stopping every now and 
then, and reading every word to herself — 

‘‘My dearest Otto, 

“Forgive me, I beg of you, but it cannot be otherwise. 
Ask yourself the question if I can make you happy, or if I 
would not make your life a burden to you. I thought I could have 
made you happy, and that thought I shall always cherish, for it 
has comprised my greatest happiness in the past. But now ” 

As she wrote the words the tears started to her eyes, and sud- 
denly she burst into a violent sobbing and tore up the paper. 
She did not feel capable of giving him such pain. Great God, 
she could not do it ! But what then should she do ? Let matters 
rest where they were until perhaps in the end some catastrophe 
occurred to compel a parting? No, no, a thousand times better 
to part in friendship with a last sad farewell ! But already she 
had caused him so much pain against her will, she wished in future 
to give him as little pain as possible, and now — oh ! to be swayed 
thus to and fro in such a struggle as that, alone and forsaken, with- 
out any one to support her, without really knowing what she wanted 
or what was her duty ! She was too weak for it, for such a struggle 
as that She took up a fresh sheet of paper, however, and once 
more began to write — 

“My dearest Otto.” 

A few lines followed easily enough, very similar to the first letter 
which she had torn up. But how should she tell him further, how ? 
Still, all at once her pen rushed along over the paper, savagely 
forming as it went letters that were all but illegible, but still she 
wrote on page after page of wild, almost incoherent sentences, in 
which she over and over again bitterly reproached herself for the 


222 


ELINE VERE. 


way in which she had treated him, and finally released him from 
his engagement. The long, rambling letter, full of repetitions, and 
blurred with her tears, she concluded with the pathetic prayer that 
when one day he should have found a girl who was worthy of him, 
and who would love him disinterestedly, he would still not quite 
forget her. Her whole being went out to him in that final entreaty. 

“ Then think sometimes of me, without hatred or bitterness, and 
have a little pity for your poor Nily.” 

The letter was written, the envelope sealed, and after much 
painful hesitation she at length summed up courage to ring for 
Gerard, to whom she handed it to post. Then a wild terror seized 
her, and she had a sensation as of icy water running down her 
back. 

Now Gerard was in the street, she thought, now he had reached 
this house, now that, now he approached the letter-box in the 
Nassanlaan. And it seemed to her as if she could hear the letter 
falling into it with a thud, like that of a coffin falling down an 
open grave. She was on the point of swooning away, for in the 
terribly overstrung state of her nerves, it seemed to her as though 
she were surrounded on all sides by tangible terrors and hideous 
spectres. And all at once, as if awakening from a nightmare, she 
felt conscious of what she had done, a deed that was irrevocable ! 
She felt herself trembling and quivering all over as in a fever. 
To-morrow, to-morrow early, Otto would receive the letter, that 
letter. 

Great God, it must not, it could not be ! It was her very happi- 
ness that she had flung away, because the rest and the peace of 
that happiness had bored her ! Yes, it was her happiness which 
she had cast away, and which she could never regain. 

It seemed to her as though the ceiling would come down and 
crush her, she could scarcely breathe. And she rushed with 
faltering steps to the door, out of her room, across the landing and 
into Betsy^s bedroom. 

“ Great God — Betsy — Betsy ! ” she screamed with a choking 
voice. Betsy was in bed and awoke with a fright. A confused 
idea of something terrible, a thought of fire, of murder, arose to her 
mind. 

*^Who ! What ! What is it ? What is it, Eline?’* 

I — oh, great heavens — oh ! ” 

“ What is it, then ? What is it, then, Eline ? ” 


ELINE VERE. 


223 


I have — I — have ” 

Well?” 

‘‘ Sent a — letter to — Otto." 

“ A letter ? ” 

“ I have— I have written him. I have— broken it off. Oh, great 
heavens ! ” 

Betsy had sprung out of bed, and she stood trembling before 
Eline, who had crouched down on the floor, and lay sobbing 
hysterically, her face hidden by her dishevelled hair. 

What do you say ? " she asked, completely crushed. 

Eline said nothing more, she could only sob. 

Henk came in. 

What is the matter ? ” he asked anxiously. 

“ Eline has written to Otto, she has broken it off ! ” said Betsy in 
a tremulous voice. 

Henk stood still in blank amazement, and could not utter a word. 
But Eline lifted up her head, and wringing her hands and nearly 
delirious with grief, she said — 

‘‘Yes, oh heavens ! yes, I have broken it off. A long letter — I 
have sent him — and, oh ! ’tis terrible — ’tis terrible — but I don’t know 
what I am doing, I don’t know what I want, I don’t know if I care 
for him or if I don’t, or if I care for any one else. I don’t know 
anything — and, oh ! ’tis all a-throbbing, a-throbbing in my head. 
I wrote him — because — because I thought it was my duty — I should 
have made him unhappy. But it is terrible, terrible — that I 
should have done it. Perhaps I ought not to have done it, perhaps 
I could have yet cared for him. Oh, God ! I would it was all 
over with me now, I would I were dead, for I can bear it no longer, 
I can bear it no longer ! ’’ 

Dull and lifeless the words fell from her, while she crouched 
down on the floor, wrimg her hands, and slowly rubbed her forehead 
on the carpet. 

Betsy glanced at Henk : what should she do ? The secret spite 
she felt against her sister melted away for the moment in a great 
pity at the sight of Eline’s grief. And when she saw her husband 
continue staring like one demented at Eline, she felt annoyed that 
he could find nothing better to do. She lit the gas, and wrapped a 
cloak about her — and Eline’s altered features alarmed her, now 
that she sat staring vacantly before her with her eyes red with 
weeping, her hands folded on her knee. 


224 


ELINE VERE. 


‘^Oh, Elly, Elly! How could you do such a thing?” said 
Henk in a husky voice, as he thought of Otto. 

Eline did not anwer, and only slightly moved her head. 

** Oh, my head is bursting ! ” she faintly murmured. 

“ Are you in pain ? ” asked Betsy. 

“ Oh I ” groaned Eline. 

Betsy dipped a handkerchief in some water and bathed Eline’s 
face, her temples, and her forehead, from which she brushed away 
the dishevelled hair. 

Henk had sat down. He did not know what to do, what to say ; 
he only saw Otto before him. 

“ How could she do it ? How could she do it ?” That was his 
only thought. 

“ Is it better now?” asked Betsy gently. 

Eline smiled contemptuously. 

Better — no — but it is cool — the water ” 

** Will you have something to drink ?” 

“ No, thank you.” 

She sobbed no longer, but her tears still flowed. And slowly, 
almost inaudibly, staring vacantly all the while, she said — 

“ Oh, not to know what to do — not to know — and then to do a 
thing like this, against your will. Poor, poor fellow I And this 
terrible pain — oh God ! — it is as if I am going mad.” 

“ Come, Eline,” said Betsy, “ let me take you to your room.” 

She led Eline away like a child, and like a child she undressed 
her. 

“ Oh, my head ! ” groaned Eline, and she fell back exhausted 
on her pillow. Betsy undressed her further and covered her, then 
she bathed her face once more with a wet cloth. 

** Come, try and sleep a little now. There is nothing more to be 
done for the present — perhaps it will all come right again later on.” 

Eline shook her head. 

Shall I sit down by your bed ? ” 

Eline did not answer, and lay staring vacantly before her. Betsy 
closed one of the red curtains and sat down. 

The little white night-lamp glowed like a star on the table, and 
in the panelling of the wardrobe, in the toilet glass, over the flask 
and vases, on the muslin toilet duchesse, fitful gleams of light 
played hither and thither, while the big, black shadows lay about 
everywhere, motionless and gruesome, like so many dark spectres. 


ELINE VERE. 


225 


Betsy sat shivering in her dressing-gown ; she wanted to think, but 
could not, for continually the one idea returned to her mind, that 
Eline had written to Otto. The hours dragged slowly by, and 
Betsy heard it strike one, half-past one, two o’clock. Then the 
groaning behind the bed-curtain died away. Betsy rose, and peeped 
through for a moment ; it seemed Eline was asleep, she lay motion- 
less with closed eyes. Slowly and quietly Betsy left the room. 

In his own room Henk was still seated, leaning his head in his 
hands. Neither of them went to bed, and they sat whispering 
together, now and then listening whether any movement could be 
heard in Eline’s room. They both feared something indefinable, of 
which they could not speak, something that continually filled their 
thoughts with a vague, dread terror. 

“ Hush ! ” cried Betsy all at once, for Henk was still whispering, 
and she heard something. Both listened. From Eline’s room 
there came the sound of a violent sobbing, the sobbing of a soul in 
despair, passionate and loud. A chill trembling came over Betsy. 

“I am so frightened,” she faltered in a quivering voice. 

Henk left the room as quietly as possible, and walked across the 
dark landing. Tlie servants were in bed, the whole house was in 
darkness. In Eline’s sitting-room, however, the gas was alight. 
There he sat down, and he heard Eline in the adjoining room — she 
was sobbing, sobbing with such intensity as he had never heard any 
one sob before ; it sounded hoarse, screeching, wild, as the voice of 
a sorrow that was past comforting ; every sob must pain and torture 
her, every sob re-echoed in his own brain ; with every sob he waited 
for the following. At last the sobbing died away in a soft groan- 
ing, then it ceased altogether. All was still. And Henk’s hair 
began to stand on end in his terror at the tragic stillness that now 
reigned throughout the big house. He rose, he was no longer 
master of his actions, he wanted to be certain, he must see. For a 
moment, but for a moment only, he hesitated to enter Eline’s. bed- 
room ; then he opened the door and entered. 

On the rumpled bed, in the ruddy reflection of the curtains, lay 
Eline with distorted features, her hair falling a dishevelled mass 
about her head. The blankets she had cast aside. She seemed to 
sleep, but yet every moment an inward sob appeared to shake her 
very frame as with a shock of electricity, and under her eyes there 
were two deep, dark circles. Henk looked at her, and his lips 
trembled with emotion at the sight of that painful sleep. Gently he 


226 


ELINE VERE. 


covered her with the blankets, and he felt that she was very cold, 
A little longer he stood staring at that tear-stained face, then he 
passed through the boudoir, where he turned down the gas. And 
then that same tragic stillness filled the dark house completely, that 
night of grief and terror. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

In the morning Eline’s letter was handed to Otto. He would not 
give himself the time to retire to his room, but walked straight into 
the drawing-room, and throwing himself on the first seat he came 
to, he opened the letter. And he commenced reading those words 
of grief and remorse. There was no need for Eline to assure him 
that she had suffered, suffered intensely in the writing of it. Thus 
much he read in every word, and with every word a fresh dart of 
sorrow was plunged into his breast. He read too, although she did 
not write it in so many words, that every effort on his part to find 
his own happiness in her love — even if he succeeded in once more 
calling her affections into being for him — would be in vain ; the 
lesson that he read from her letter, in language which to him was 
clear and unmistakable, was that they were separated for ever, 
because she had not possessed the strength to preserve her love. 
A great, an immeasurable despair filled him ; he thought that had 
she had the strength, had she remained true to him, he could have 
made her happy, because in the restfulness of his own soul, in the 
soothing calm of his own love, she would have closed her eyes and 
slumbered, to awaken again at last full of peaceful happiness. 
Cnee he had felt certain that such would have been their future ; 
now, however, that idea appeared to have been but an idle 
fantasy, nothing more. 

Once again he looked through the letter, and it seemed to him as 
though only then did he read it aright ; yes, she was lost to him, lost 
for ever ! A void, a hopeless vacuum surrounded him in his solitude 
in the midst of the luxurious drawing-room, full of inanimate lustre, 
full of big, chill mirrors and costly furniture, and with his moistened 


ELINE VERE. 


227 


eyes he looked around him and shuddered. Then he fell back on his 
chair, and covered his face with his hands, and a single, painful 
sob escaped his pent-up bosom. He felt a sensation as if every- 
thing within him was being shattered and broken, as if that single 
bitter sigh, like the breath of a hurricane, had dispelled and destroyed 
every budding blossom of hopefulness with him — it seemed to him 
as if with him there was nought left but that great, that immeasur- 
able despair, and at that moment he would fain have died. Softly 
he sobbed and sobbed, and a feeling of bitterness arose in his breast. 
Had he deserved this, he who had once discovered such a treasure 
in himself, he who had desired nothing better than to make another 
share that treasure, that treasure of peace and rest.? His treasure 
was despised, and now he felt himself poorer even than the poorest, 
and empty, utterly empty, in despair and lassitude. 

The door was slowly opened. It was Mathilde. She approached 
him as a sad image of pity, she sat down beside him, and tried to 
remove his hands from his face. He started violently, and looked 
at her with two great, wildly staring eyes. 

What have you come to do here?” he asked in a disconsolate 
voice. For there was nothing to do for him, nothing ; he was dead 
to everything. 

What used you to come to me for, five years ago, when you 
used to sit down beside me and draw me close to your side ? 
And what did you come to me for one evening, also five years ago 
now, when my husband — had — left me — my husband, whom I have 
never seen since. Tell me, what did you come to me for then ? 
Did I then ask what you ask me now ?” she said reproachfully. 
“ You have had a letter from Eline, I know it, I have seen the 
envelope. You need not tell me what it was about. I can feel it 
instinctively. But, Otto, let me share your grief, do not turn a deaf 
ear to my pleading.” 

She saw his chest heaving under the mighty sob which he 
repressed with a violent effort, and she threw her arm round his 
neck, and forced him to lean his head upon her shoulder ; and in 
his own sorrow he started, terrified at the recollection of hers, of 
her grief, of which she never spoke, and he felt that indeed she 
must sincerely desire to comfort him, when for his sake she thus 
plunged herself anew into that great sorrow of the past. 

‘'Why do you speak about that?” he asked, for he knew that 
she suffered least when she suffered in silence. 


228 


ELINE VERB. 


So that you may feel that I understand you. And so that you 
may see that I live still, and must continue to live ; and especially 
to show you that all the grief on earth is not yours exclusively. 
Perhaps that idea may comfort you a little.’^ 

“ Oh ! ” he burst out sobbing, and he clung close to her, and 
tremblingly handed her the letter. There, read ! read ! ” he 
cried. 

She read the letter, and stroked his hair as if he had been a 
child. Yes, that was as it should be, now he no longer forced 
himself to control his feelings, now he felt not ashamed, in his 
obstinate manliness, of his copious tears. And while she read, she 
thought of Eline. 

“Did she know what she was throwing away?’^ she mused. 
“What would she do if she saw him thus ? Is she not worthy of 
you, my Otto, my own brother? or is it only that she is unhappy, 
imhappy as we are ? ” 

Madame van Erlevoort came in with Fr^ddrique. They had 
heard the news from Henk. 

Mathilde lifted up his head. 

“ There is mamma ! ” she said simply, as though she would no 
longer retain him, now that another demanded his attention. But 
when he saw his gentle mother, melting away as it were in his 
grief, deepest pity filled his soul. He must comfort her. 

“ Mother, mother, do not cry like that ! ^Tis not so terrible ! 
he cried out in despair. 

Frdddrique remained standing, leaning against one of the folding 
doors. Of her they took no notice whatever. Mathilde, mamma, 
could soothe and comfort him, but she, she was of no use to him at 
all; she was silly, childish, and would not know what to say to 
him. She remembered how, one day, long before his engagement, 
she had spoken to him about Eline ; but now she had nothing to 
say, absolutely nothing. For, of course, she did not understand 
what sorrow was, she herself had never suffered, she had no feeling, 
she was a stone. 

“ A stone ! they think I am a stone ! she repeated softly to 
herself, and she remained leaning against the door-post and sobbed 
inaudibly, disconsolate at the thought that she could not comfort 
Otto. She felt a hand on her shoulder, and she turned almost 
haughty at being thus misjudged. But when she saw his sorrowful 
face ; those moist eyes, in which, for the first time, she beheld tears; 


ELINE VERE. 


229 


when she saw those lips trembling under his moustache, and the 
deep furrows over his brow, she flung herself, brimming over with 
pity, on his bosom, and clasping him tightly in her arms, covered 
his face with burning, passionate kisses. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

Vincent was busy packing, for the next day he would be leaving 
for London. Henk tried to make him alter his mind and stay, 
but only half-heartedly, for he felt well enough that when Vincent 
was once away, a great obstacle to the peace of the house would 
be removed, and Betsy would no longer be irritated by the presence 
of a cousin whom she hated, whom she feared, and whom in 
her fear of him she had nurtured and tended until she abhorred 
him. In the morning before his departure Vincent had a last 
chat with Eline in her boudoir. 

** Then you are going, really ? ” she asked. 

Certainly, my dear girl. You can see for yourself that Betsy 
can’t bear me any longer.” 

^*What are you going to do in London ?” 

“ I have to call on some acquaintances there — to arrange some 
money matters before I go to America.” 

“ Are you going to America, then ? ” 

“ You know I am ; haven’t you yourself brought me St. Clare’s 
letter ? ” 

« I — I did not know that you had decided for certain. Poor 
Vincent ! ” 

He looked at her with a quiet smile ; not quite recovered from 
his weakness, it rather soothed him to be pitied. 

“ Do you pity me so ?” 

«Yes — indeed, I pity. You are beginning your wanderings 
again, and who knows if I shall ever see you again. Perhaps 
never, never again ! ” 

She sighed. 

“ I am always happiest when I am on my wanderings.” 

She felt an eager desire to ask him if she might accompany him, 


230 


ELINE VERE. 


if she might by his side also seek her fortune far away. But she 
did not know how to shape her question, and she waited to see if 
perhaps he would say something. For did he not love her ? had 
he not wanted to go away for her sake ? N ow there remained nothing 
more that need separate them. 

“He is afraid to speak,” she thought, and she could not say 
whether she was glad or sorry that he was afraid. 

“ Happiest on your wanderings ! ” she repeated musingly. “ It is 
possible — you are a man, you can wander. But I am a girl, I have 
always lived a quiet life here. Happy am 1 1 Heavens ! No, that 
I am not ! ” 

He glanced at her for a moment, as if about to ask her some- 
thing ; but for a while he remained silent. Then he asked — 

“ And why — are you not happy ? ” 

“ Why ! ” she murmured. 

She waited for him to proceed, until perhaps he should put to 
her the question which she had awaited for days past. But no 
doubt it was owing to a sense of honour and decency that he did 
not ask it ; it was but such a little while ago as yet that she had 
written to Otto. Still she thought she could detect the presence 
of love beneath his soft accents, and she looked at him. A ray of 
sunshine glinted along the window-curtain into the room and fell 
upon him where he sat, surrounding him with a kind of halo, and 
she started back in sudden alarm when she observed by that 
brilliant light how he resembled her dead father. This alarm 
caused her heart to pulse the quicker, and she fancied that she 
loved Vincent for the sake of her father’s memory, because in him 
she saw a victim of the world’s conventionality, and thus she 
invested him with something ideal and romantic. 

He, too, looked at with pity in his heart, for he knew that she 
had flung away her happiness. He had often done so himself, he 
thought; but in his own case the fact had never disclosed itself 
to his eyes with such distinctness as it did now with regard to 
Eline. For a moment he wanted to tell her as much, but he could 
see no use in doing so, and so he said nothing. She would never 
have admitted it. 

“ Vincent ! ” she faltered at last, with her nerves painfully over- 
strung in the suspense of waiting, Avaiting for that which never 
came. “ Vincent, tell me — perhaps we shall never see each other 
again — have you nothing — nothing to say to me ? ” 


ELINE VERE. 


231 


“ I have, and a good deal, Elly dear ; I have to thank you for 
having tended and nursed me like a dear little girl, here in your 
own room, at a time when you yourself were suffering.” 

“ How do you know that I suffered ? ” 

I have a little knowledge of human nature.” 

She shook her head. 

I don’t think so. I have not suffered, I pity — Otto, but I have 
not suffered myself.” 

As she uttered that lie she felt it tortured her, but it was for the sake 
of Vincent, who loved her, and who must not know of her own grief. 
He looked at her penetratingly, asking himself why it was that she 
lied, but he was at a loss to account for it, he could not imderstand 
it at all ; the only thing he did understand was that in the soul of 
woman there always remained something that was strange and 
mysterious, a mist that could not be penetrated. Neither did she 
understand him. She could not understand why he did not ask 
her to love him, now that there was nothing more to separate them, 
and now that he was on the point of going away. In another hour 
he would be gone. Oh, perhaps he thought it was too late. She 
sighed, and eagerly she said — 

“ Vincent, one thing you must promise me ; if ever I can do any- 
thing for you, write to me, and I assure you I shall not disappoint 
you. Will you promise me this ?” 

I promise you, and I thank you.” 

And something else. I know you are often in want of money. 
If at any time I can help you with any, pray write to me. Just now, 
for instance, I have two hundred and fifty florins in cash lying 
here ; are they of any use to you t if so, they are at your disposal. 
May I give you the money ? ” 

She had already risen to open her escritoire, but he grasped her 
hand with something like emotion. 

« Elly — Elly — no, Elly — not that— thank you very much. It is 
most kind of you indeed, but I could not return you the money for. 
ever so long perhaps.” 

Oh, come now, don’t — don’t refuse me. ’Tis a pleasure to me, I 
assure you.” 

Once again, I don’t know how to thank you, but really — I — I 
cannot accept it — really I can’t.” 

She stood still, and her cheeks turned white as marble. Yes, yes, 
indeed, he loved her, how could she doubt it? If he did not, would 
16 


232 


ELINE VERB. 


he have refused to accept the money ? Yes, she could see it, he 
would not owe her money, because he loved her. But why did he 
not speak then ? 

At length he rose, the cab was to be at the door in a few 
minutes. 

Now I must really go,” said he. “ Good-bye, Elly dear, good- 
bye ; thank you a thousand times for what you have done for 
me.” 

Good-bye, Vincent, good-bye.” 

He made a movement as if he wanted to kiss her, and she threw 
her arms round his neck and kissed him on both cheeks. 

Think of me sometimes, will you ? I am fond of you, and I 
am really not fond of many persons ; I can count my affections 
easily enough. Well, good-bye, Elly, good-bye, and perhaps, au 
revoir .^* . 

Once more she kissed him, her eyes full of tears, and as he went 
she threw herself on the sofa, and nodded her head to him for the 
last time. He disappeared, closing the door behind him. 

For a while she sat staring at that door. And when, after a few 
moments, she heard his cab move away, she wondered that he had 
kissed her so unreservedly and coolly in that final moment of 
parting. She wanted to muse about him, because she did not 
understand him ; she wanted, too, to probe her own feelings and 
discover if she really loved him, but she felt tired and her head 
ached, and with a weary sigh she fell back in the cushions, covering 
her face with her hands. 

It was the third day after Vincentes departure, but although he 
had left the house, there had been another tiff about him between 
Eline and Betsy, who had spoken her mind about her “wretch of a 
cousin” in the presence of visitors, and to Eline’s intense annoy- 
ance. The time had now come, Betsy thought, when she should 
once for all let Eline know that she was mistress in that house ; and 
so, with the full intention of doing so, she walked up-stairs in the 
evening into Eline’s boudoir. 

“ What do you want ? ” Eline said haughtily. “ I should like to 
be alone.” 

“ May I remind you that you are in my house, and that if I feel 
inclined to come here I shall do so ! I have something to say to 
you.” 


ELINE VERE. 


233 


Make haste then, for I tell you again I wish to be alone ! ” 

“ You wish ! you / What right have you to wish, I should like 
to know ? You are in my house, and it isn’t for you to wish ! Who 
do you think you are, eh ? ” shrieked Betsy, exciting herself to a 
towering passion. “ Do you imagine you are a princess, and can 
do ' exactly as you like ? or do you fancy that I am going to be 
dictated to by you in the presence of strangers ? ” 

“Don’t you think I know what to say without your valuable 
advice ? I don’t want your advice, so there ! And I assure you that 
in future, whenever I hear you speak in that disgraceful way about 
Vincent, I shall make you hold your tongue. Thus much I assure 
you.” 

■ “ Indeed, you assure me — you do, eh ? But I don’t want your 

assurance, I tell you. I have no intention to trouble myself in the 
least about your idiotic tenderness for Vincent ! Perhaps it was 
he from whom you learnt the politeness to interrupt one among 
strangers as you dared to do to me ? I can’t understand how you 
can have the impertinence, I can’t really. Why, they must have 
thought you were crazy. Well, if you are, that must be your 
excuse ! Fancy calling me vulgar ; and what are you, pray? you, 
Avho forget the very rudiments of politeness, and have ” 

“ Yes, I know, I have heard it before — have had the impertinence 
to interrupt you, you were going to say. Do say something else 
for a change. But you shall see that I dare more than that, if you 
attack Vincent again. You think him false, do you? But I think 
you are false, you who invite him here yourself, and then drive him 
out of the house, you who for no reason whatever go on about him 
like a washerwoman ! It is you, you who are false !” 

“ Keep your beautiful epithets to yourself, please.” 

“ Then you just keep that wretched abuse of Vincent to yourself 
too, please ! ” shrieked Eline, boiling with passion. “ I won’t, do 
you hear, I won’t hear it any longer. I have stood it long enough 
for the sake of peace, but now I won’t stand it any longer ! Do 
you understand?” 

“ Indeed, won’t you stand it any longer? Perhaps it was all on 
account of that darling Vincent that you could not stand Otto any 
longer either ? ” 

“ Hold your tongue ! ” screamed Eline. 

“ Or perhaps you are smitten with that reptile, and that is why 
you treated Otto as if he had been a schoolboy with whom you 


234 


ELINE VERE. 


were having a little joke ? You won’t bear my abuse of Vincent 
any longer, will you ? but I tell you that I won’t be compromised 
any more by you ! Not bac^ I’m sure ! To start with, you are 
silly enough to break your engagement, and, out of pure caprice, 
without the slightest reason, you have made yourself the talk of 
the town ; then you carry on here in my house with Vincent, 
as if you were in love with him, and as a wind-up you dare to 
be impertinent to me before strangers ! Well, I am not going to 
bear it any longer, do you hear ? If you have learnt that unmanner- 
liness in your philosophic discourses with Vincent ” 

Eline could no longer control herself. Her nerves were strung 
to their utmost tension, and quivered under Betsy’s insults as 
under the touch of rough hands. And Betsy’s allusion to Otto, to 
her sympathy for Vincent, which she fancied she had so success- 
fully concealed, made her furious. She grasped Betsy’s wrists in 
the nervous strength of her fingers, and in a voice shrill with rage 
she cried — 

“ It is enough ! Hold your tongue, I tell you. Don’t talk any 
more about Otto, don’t say another word about Vincent, or I — I — 
I’ll do you an injury ! Don’t aggravate me any longer. Take care !” 

Betsy wrenched herself free from her grasp. 

“ Eline, are you mad ? ” she cried, but Eline did not allow her to 
finish. She remained standing in front of Betsy and clenching her 
trembling hands. 

“ I tell you, you aggravate me, you aggravate me with that 
eternal rubbish about your house. ‘ My house ! my house ! ’ I 
know I am in your house, but I did not ask you to take me in, and 
I won’t be reminded that I am in your house, as if you did me a 
charity. I am not dependent on you although I am in your house, 
and I won’t be dictated to by you, not in anything. I am free, 
quite free, to do just as I please.” 

“ Oh no, you are not ; you are in my house, and you must 
behave yourself. And if you don’t know how to behave yourself, I 
shall tell you, so long as you are here ! ” 

“And I won’t be told by you how I am to behave !” shrieked 
Eline. “ I tell you, I am free ! I don’t want your house, about 
which you make so much fuss, and I swear to you that I shall not 
stay another moment in it ! That I swear to you, I swear it, by 
all that is sacred ! Enjoy your house to yourself, or choke in it for 
my part ! ” 


ELINE VERE. 


23s 

She was scarcely conscious of what she said. She had worked 
herself into a paroxysm of rage, and with a rapid movement she 
picked up her cloak from the floor and flung it round her shoulders. 
Then she rushed towards the door, but Henk, who on hearing the 
loud voices had come upon the scene, stopped her. 

“ Eline ! ” he began severely. 

“ Let me go, let me go ! ” she screamed like a wounded tigress, 
and she pushed his big body aside with such a frantic strength 
as made him stagger. Once more he attempted to stop her, but 
again she pushed him aside, rushed out of the room, and down the 
stairs. 

“ Eline ! In Heaven^s name, Eline ! you don’t know what you 
are doing ! ” he shouted to her from the landing, and rushed after 

her. 

She heard no more. She had but one single thought : to fly from 
that house, away from a shelter where she was reproached for her 
presence. She saw nothing more ; she saw neither Gerard nor the 
servants, who stood looking at her in blank amazement ; she 
hurried along the vestibule, flung open the glass doors, and quickly 
drew the bolt from the street-door. But now, now she. heard 
behind her a rattling noise ; the door fell to with a bang, shattering 
the glass on the floor with a loud crash. 

Then the street-door too slammed behind her, and she found 
herself in the street The rain was falling in torrents, and the 
blustering wind blew open her cloak, and beat in her face as with 
a damp thong. It was impossible for her to plod on in the teeth 
of that boisterous hurricane, and she turned the other way and 
allowed herself to be driven along aimlessly by the force of the 
wind, which flew at her back like a gigantic vampire, with big, 
tearing claw’s. Aimlessly she let herself be carried along in that 
pitiful, that dismal night. In the street she saw no one, and in her 
loneliness, in the lowering gloom, in the splashing downpour, in 
the wild gusts of the storm, she at length felt herself conscious of 
her position, and a chill, indefinable terror overtook her. It 
seemed to her as though she had been suddenly wrenched away 
from out of the midst of every-day life, and found herself plunged 
into a sphere full of nameless, terrible anxiety and blank, dismal 
despair. She nearly died with fright at the darkness that enveloped 
her like a black shroud of grief, at the deluge which was pouring 


ELINE VERB. 


236 

down upon her bare head, utterly without protection from the wind 
gusts which nearly blew her cloak from her shoulders, and numbed 
her with cold in the thin black silk dress that fluttered about her in 
the buffeting wind. Her little patent shoes went splashing along 
through mud puddles and thick mire ; her dishevelled hair hung 
dank and dripping down her temples ; and under her thin cloak 
she felt a chill moisture gliding down her neck and down her bare 
bosom. She knew no longer where she was ; she started in fright 
at the twigs that fell about her, at the howling of a watch-dog in a 
house she passed. And she saw no one, no one. 

But her condition brought her to herself. She felt conscious of 
having fled from her sister’s house. She would fain have stood 
still for a moment to reflect, but the strong wind thrust her forward, 
as though she were one of the autumn leaves that were whirled 
about her head. And she let herself be blown along, and collected 
her thoughts, while tramping forward with involuntarily hurried 
footsteps. Despite her pitiful condition, she felt neither remorse 
nor regret at the step she had taken. And suddenly she felt 
astounded at her own courage. She would never have imagined 
herself possessed of the pluck to run away in such a night, without 
knowing whither to go. But she forced her thoughts to take some 
practical shape, she could not continue wandering about in this 
way, she must have an object. 

All at once she noticed that she had reached the Laan Copes 
van Cattenburgh. Driven forward by the wind, she hurried along 
the rain-sodden, muddy path, while the storm swept in sullen fury 
across the Alexanders-veld. 

Continually she had to step back before the shower of loose 
twigs which the wind blew from the trees, and she began to per- 
ceive that she was in danger of being crushed by some falling 
trunk. A fear for her life prevented her from thinking, but the 
more intensely that fear numbed her heart, the more eagerly she 
nerved herself to do so. Whither in Heaven’s name should she go ? 
A chill tremor seized her — a vague, undefined dread — while her wide, 
staring eyes were trying in vain to peer through the dense gloom. 
To whom was she to go? To old Madame van Raat ? No, no, 
fond as she was of her, the old lady would be sure to take the part 
of her son and her daughter-in-law ! To the Verstraetens — her 
brother-in-law’s relation ? Everything began to surge around her, 
and she— she felt herself lost in her black solitude, and gradually 


ELINE VERE. 


237 

sinking lower and lower into an abyss of grief and of mire ! Otto^s 
figure rose to her mind, and she would have given all that remained 
her of her life could he have come to her at that moment, could 
he have there and then borne her away in his arms, clinging to his 
heart, to some abode of warmth, light, love, and safety. Her 
courage all but failed her to go farther, she could have flung herself 
down in that mire through which she plodded, and remain lying 
there, letting the winds sweep over her until her last breath should 
have escaped her ! But no ! that would be all too cowardly after 
the pluck she had already shown, and now she must, she would set 
her mind to think of some place of refuge. Not Madame van 
Raat — not the Verstraetens — in Heaven’s name whither should she 
go then ? And all at once, like a lightning flash darting through 
the gloom of that night of blank despair, an idea struck her, and 
her mind reverted to a certain suite of humble apartments, to 
Jeanne, her friend of former days. Yes, thither she must go : she 
knew no one else, and she could not for ever go on wandering along 
in that pouring rain, in that howling storm ; and, bracing herself 
up to face the buffeting wind, she hurried round — numbed, chill, 
and wet to the skin — by the Alexanders-veld in the direction of the 
Hugo de Grootstraat. There, over on the opposite side of the 
field, she could just see the backs, lit up here and there with a 
faint gas glimmer, of the houses on the Nassauplein, but she 
could not distinguish which of them was theirs — hers no longer. 
A wild, longing remorse now filled her poor, despairing heart at the 
recollection of all she had lost yonder, at the thought that she had 
yet to plod on for so long through the raging storm ere she could 
reach the Ferelyns. And she was tired, tired unto death, tired 
from her quarrel with Betsy, tired with the rain that was un- 
ceasingly beating down upon her face, cold and cutting as thongs 
of steel, tired with the wind against which she struggled as with an 
immense black monster, that was dashing her to and fro as though 
she had been a human battledore. She felt more fatigued with 
every step she took in her little patent shoes, which were be- 
spattered with mud, and with every movement threatened to slip 
from her feet. And oh ! she could have died with misery, with 
di:tress, with grief. 

But forward, still forward she must go, and she fought and 
struggled on with the monster and slowly gained upon it. In this 
way she reached the Javastraat, and then she turned to the right, 


ELINE VERB. 


238 

towards the Laan van Meerdervoort. The hurricane shook her as 
though it would break her like a reed, and a heavy branch struck 
her on the shoulder, and scratched her face so that she screamed 
with pain. And suddenly, with despair overmastering her body 
and soul, desperate with fear and grief, she made an attempt to 
start running, running as if for very life, and fly — fly to the Fere- 
lyns. But the furious wind stopped her, it was in vain, she could 
only proceed slowly, painfully, step by step. 

Oh God I What have I done ? ” she cried in wild despair. 
Those familiar streets, along which she trod almost daily, seemed 
to her, in that noisome darkness, as the unknown ways of a demon 
city along which she was doomed to wander like some accursed 
phantom. She passed by Madame van Raat’s house, and she had 
to summon forth all her courage, all the strength of her will, not to 
knock at that door, that would surely open to her, and admit her 
to light and warmth. But no, it was too late, Madame would be 
asleep ; besides, she would reproach Eline with her flight from the 
Nassauplein. And she plodded on, driven forward by the wind 
and by an obstinate fixed idea, towards the house of the Ferelyns. 
She went on, on, although with every step she took she felt her 
thin little saturated shoes growing heavier, heavier than lead. She 
turned at the Spiegelstraat — how much longer should she have 
to suffer? She counted the minutes — then — then she entered the 
Hugo de Grootstraat. And the furious rain beat down more 
savagely than ever on her face, more roughly than ever the wind 
tugged and tore at her cloak, when — thank God ! — she stood at 
their door. She could see no light anywhere, but she did not 
hesitate. Here only could she find safety. And she rang the bell 
violently, roughly, passionately, as with a tintinnabulating cry for 
help. 

The time to her seemed unendurably long before any one an- 
swered. But at last she heard steps coming down the stairs, the 
bolt was drawn with a grating sound, then the door was slowly, 
stealthily opened, and a face appeared at the opening. 

“ In God’s name !” she cried imploringly, and pushed the door 
quite open and rushed inside. It is I, Eline.” 

The door closed and she stood in the darkness before Frans 
Ferelyn, who, in utter amazement, shouted out her name. At the 
top of the stairs appeared Jeanne with a lamp, and in her longing 


ELINE VERE. 239 

for light, for warmth, for glow, her will once more got the better of 
failing strength, and she hastened up the stairs. 

“Jeanne! — Jeanne! — I implore you— help me. It is I — Eline, 
oh, help me ! help me, do ! ” 

“Great heavens, Eline !” Jeanne cried, as she stood paralyzed 
with astonishment. 

“Help me, do. I have — run away from them. Help me, do, or 
I shall die.” 

She sank down soaking wet at Jeanne’s feet, and where she lay 
the stairs were soon wet with the water that dripped from her 
cloak. 

“Great heavens, Eline! Eline!” cried Jeanne, who could not 
believe her own eyes. 

Eline had burst out sobbing, and remained crouched at Jeanne’s 
feet. Jeanne attempted to lift her up; and wherever her hands 
touched her, she felt her icy cold and soaked through with the 
rain. 

“ In Heaven’s name, Eline, what have you done ? What has 
happened? You are so wet — so wet — wet and cold all over. Great 
heavens, Eline !” She led Eline, who walked with tottering steps, 
into Frans’s little office, and set down the lamp. Eline fell ex- 
hausted on a chair, the dirty rain-water oozing through her clothes. 

“Yes — yes,” cried Eline. “ I have run away from them, I could 
not stop with them any longer. And I have come to you — because 
I don’t know where else to go. Oh, Jeanne, do, do help me ! ” she 
went on, in a voice broken with sobs. 

Jeanne trembled with nervousness and pity. 

“ Tell me about that afterwards, Eline. Let me undress you — 
you will be ill in these wet things.” 

“Yes, yes, undress me, do — that cloak, those shoes, oh, I am 
sick of myself. I am all over mud. Great heavens ! oh, that I 
were dead ! ” She threw herself, trembling all over, backward in 
her chair. Frans had come into the room. 

“Oh, Frans, just look here,” said Jeanne, shaking with excite- 
ment, and pointed to Eline. “ I hope she won’t be ill.” 

“ Without a hat, in that thin, low-necked dress ! I shall try and 
light the fire down-stairs. You undress her.” 

He was still as if paralyzed with Eline’s appearance, and he too 
trembled with pity, quite unable to speak, as he saw her sitting in 
that chair, the water dripping from her hair on her white face and 


240 


ELINE VERE. 


down her throat, her black evening dress clinging to her like a wet 
flannel. But he went. He must be up and doing. 

And outside raged the storm. 

She was now in their well-lit sitting-room, lying on a couch 
which Frans had placed by the side of the flaming stove, and she 
shivered with fever under her woollen blankets. And yet she felt 
a grateful sense of well-being in that light, in sight of those flames, 
intensely grateful that she was saved from the demoniac powers of 
darkness. Suddenly she raised herself up. 

Jeanne,^^ she shrieked in a hoarse voice to the little trembling 
woman, who was preparing a steaming hot drink. “Jeanne! I 
implore you, forgive me for keeping you up such a night as this. 
But, in Heaven’s name, where was I to go to? Oh, that rain, that 
wmd I It drives me mad to think of it. I had no idea that a person 
could be in such distress as I have suffered this night. But really, 
I could not stay with them any longer. As for that Betsy, oh, how 
I hate her.” 

“ Eline, I entreat you, be calm now.” 

“Why did she mention Otto’s name? What right has she to 
mention Otto’s name? I hate her I I hate her 1” 

Eline I Eline ! ” Jeanne cried, clasping her hands. 

She flung herself before the couch. 

“ Eline, I beseech you, I beseech you, in Heaven’s name I Be 
calm ! Rest yourself now, Eline.” 

Eline, with her feverish, staring eyes, looked long at Jeanne, then 
she threw her arm round her neck. 

“ Lie down and rest yourself now, Eline ; rest yourself, if you 
cannot sleep.” 

A hollow sob burst from Eline’s throat. 

“ Oh, you are an angel ! ” she whispered in broken tones. “ I 
shall never forget what you are doing for me, never. It is as if you 
have rescued me from an abyss of despair. Oh, that mud I You 
care for me then, Jany?” 

“ Yes, yes, Eline, of course I do ; but rest now, rest yourself now.” 

“ Oh ! rest myself.” 

That single word *rest’ cut Jeanne to the quick. Eline pronounced 
it in a voice full of despair, as if for her there would never more 
be any rest. Still she allowed Jeanne to ensconce her snugly in 
the pillows, and emptied the glass that Jeanne offered her. 


ELINE VERE. 


241 


“ Thanks, thanks, Jany,” she faltered. 

Jeanne covered her up with the blankets and sat down beside 
her. The windows rattled in the wind, and the bare branches beat 
furiously against the glass. The clock over the chimney struck three. 

It had just struck three, too, in the house of the Van Raats, when 
Frans Ferelyn drew up in front of their door in a cab. The storm 
still roared and shrieked like some wounded monster that was 
savagely fighting for life above the housetops of the dark city. 
Frans sprang from the cab and rang the bell. He noticed that 
the gas was lighted in the vestibule. 

The door was opened immediately by Henk, who appeared to be 
'expecting some one. But on seeing Frans rush inside, he stepped 
back in astonishment. 

Is that you, Ferelyn ? ’’ he cried. 

“ Yes, don’t be alarmed,” said Frans, calming him, for he saw 
that Henk was in a terrible state of excitement. “ It is all right ; 
Eiine is with us.” 

He walked further inside, crushing the glass that lay scattered 
all over the vestibule. 

“With you, is she? Thank God !” exclaimed Henk. ‘‘I was 
mad, mad ; I did not know what to do ! Thank God she is with 
you.” 

“ Come in, Ferelyn,” came in a trembling voice from Betsy, who 
appeared at the door of the dining-room. 

The servants were also in the vestibule, and their frightened 
faces cleared up a little, while they retired whispering into the 
kitchen. Frans entered the dining-room with Henk. 

“ You need not be alarmed, madam ; really, for the moment it 
is all right. Eiine was wet through, but Jeanne has taken her 
under her care. You can imagine what a fright it gave us when we 
heard such a loud knocking at the door, and at such an hour, and 
we saw her soaked through.” 

Suddenly he noticed Henk’s face. 

“But I say, what has happened to you? Your cheek is all 
over blood.” 

“ Oh, that’s nothing at all. When Eiine ran away I rushed 
after her, and through the wind the door in the vestibule fell to 
and broke the glass. The shattered glass sprang into my eyes, 
and so I could not at once run after her. Still, as soon as I could 


242 


ELINE VERE. 


I got out into the street with Gerard, to drag her home again if 
necessary. But it was so confoundedly darh ; the gas-lamps were 
blown out in the storm, and I could see nothing of her. I did not 
know what to do. Then we went to the police-station on the 
Schelpkade, and they sent out some night-watchmen to find her. 
She was in such a state. I thought perhaps she might have made 
an end of herself, and in this infernal weather anything might 
happen to her. My eye pains me ; I shall go and see an oculist 
to-morrow.’^ 

Betsy fell down with a sigh in a chair. 

“ Oh, ’tis terrible, terrible ! ” she faltered. That girl can 
behave like a maniac sometimes ! ” 

“ Of course, if you do your best to drive her mad ! ” cried Henk 
angrily, with his hand on his eye. 

‘‘Ah, bien! Yes, blame me for it.” 

“ Van Raat, there is just a thing or two I want to say to you,” 
interrupted Frans. “In the first place, I came round here without 
a moment’s delay, because I feared you would be terribly anxious 
about her.” 

“ Old chap, I don’t know how I can thank you.” 

“Never mind about that just now. But Eline has positively 
declared that she would not go back to you. Now I need not tell 
you that such an affair as that soon gets wind ; people begin to 
talk, and all that, and that ! not very pleasant. And the servants 
know all about it too, don’t they ? ” 

Betsy gave Frans a grateful look for touching that point. 

“ Oh, well, how can you help that ? ” cried Henk impatiently. 
“ People will always talk.” 

“ Yes, that’s true enough ; but anyhow you come round to my 
house as soon as you can to-morrow, and see if you can’t persuade 
Eline to return home. That is, of course, if she is not ill ; just now 
I thought she was rather feverish. So you had better let her rest 
a bit now ; but come as early as possible to-morrow.” 

“ All right,” said Henk, with a dazed look. 

“ I believe she was delirious when I went out to fetch a cab, but 
still she seemed very determined. She would not go back, and she 
gave me her keys. She asked me ” — and he looked at Betsy — “ to 
arrange her things here and pack them. But I think she said it 
all in her passion ; I hope in any case that by this time to-morrow 
we shall have come to some amicable arrangement.” 


ELINE VERE. 


243 


'‘Look here, Ferelyn!” said Betsy uneasily; "you can well 
understand the despair I am in. Good gracious, it isn’t the first 
tiff I have had with Eline, but who could imagine her capable of 
such a mad freak as this ? And as you say, all the Hague will be 
talking about it. Therefore if you can manage to persuade her to 
come back, I shall be for ever grateful to you. Our house is always 
open to her ; and as for those keys, you had better leave them 
here. I am of your opinion, and think it will all come right yet. 
Good heavens ! what a blessing that she came to you ! But in 
such a night as that, alone, out in that storm ! How could she have 
done it? Good heavens ! How could she have done it?” 

Frans had still to talk about one or two matters with Henk, who 
asked him to stay till the morning, as Frans had sent his cab away, 
and the weather was still frightfully boisterous. Gerard conducted 
Frans to Henk’s dressing-room, where he removed his wet clothes. 

Early next morning Henk drove with Frans to an oculist. It 
was only a vein that had burst in Henk’s eye, and after a little 
grain of glass had been removed from it with a lancet, he felt 
greatly relieved. But across his cheek there was a long, ugly 
cut. 

“ I look as though I had been in the war,” said he, with an 
attempt at a smile to Ferelyn, as soon as they were in the carriage 
again, on their way to the Hugo de Grootstraat, “ and indeed, old 
fellow, it does seem as if we were all at war just now. I have got 
enough of it already.” 

Ferelyn could not help pitying him when he saw that kindly 
honest face suffused with a gloomy melancholy. It was evident 
enough that Henk looked forward with a deal of misgiving to the 
interview with Eline. But the ordeal was spared him. Eline 
passionately refused to receive him, and in the adjoining room he 
sat and listened anxiously to the reproaches she levelled at Frans. 
Why did Frans want to bring him? Why had she given Frans 
her keys ? Was Frans, too, no longer to be trusted ? 

Eline’s voice sounded hoarse and rough, and to Henk it seemed 
that she was delirious. Then he heard a soft, reproachful whisper- 
ing of Jeanne, followed by the sobbing of Eline, who accused herself 
of ingratitude. 

Soon Frans came back, shrugging his shoulders. 

“ She won’t see you. You had better resign yourself to it. I 


244 


ELINE VERE. 


believe she is in a violent fever. Do you think Reyer is still at 
home? If so, I should drive down to him if I were you.’^ 

“ All right,” said Henk dejectedly, “ I will go.” 

Eline was still lying on her couch covered with woollen blankets, 
and she groaned softly as if in pain. 

“You are so kind to me, Jany, but you see of course I can’t 
remain here, and trouble you like this,” she went on, sorrowfully. 
“ You haven’t very much room. I must be an inconvenience to you. 
This afternoon I shall go to an hotel.” 

Jeanne sat down beside her and took her hands in hers. 

“ Eline, be sensible now, and don’t talk any more about that. 
Believe me, you are ill ; you remain quietly here with us. I won’t 
insist that you shall return to Betsy’s, but then you must not talk 
about going to an hotel.” 

“Yes, but if I am ill — I don’t believe I am, but you say so — if I 
am ill, it will be some time before I can leave you again. And — 
and — oh, forgive me for saying it — I know you cannot afford it, 
Jany dear ; forgive me, forgive me for saying it.” 

Jeanne looked at Eline tenderly, and her eyes filled with tears. 

“ If it’s that, Eline, pay us then and stay here ; pay us, and don’t 
talk any more about an hotel. I won’t be ashamed of it ; you may 
pay me for it if" you want to. But stay here — stay.” 

Eline started up with her w’ild staring eyes and her dishevelled 
hair, which Jeanne brushed in vain from her tern; les. And she 
clung to Jeanne with a sudden intensity, as if in her burning grief 
she plunged into the grateful cooling waters of pity and sympathy. 

“ Oh, you darling ! you angel !” she cried. “Forgive me, I — I 
did not mean to grieve you, but — but — oh, yes, indeed, I will 
gladly stay, you are so good. May I stay ? ” 

That afternoon old Madame van Raat and Madame Verstraeten 
came to see Eline, and endeavoured to persuade her to return to 
the N assauplein. Eline, however, refused to receive them. Even 
Betsy allowed Jeanne to persuade her to call on Eline, and ask her 
pardon. Jeanne thought it was Betsy’s duty to try and make her 
peace with her sick sister, and it might have a favourable effect on 
her. But Betsy Eline would not see either. And in the adjoining 
room Betsy, with her mother-in-law and her aunt, heard, as Henk 
had heard that morning in silence and anxiety, how Eline declared 
to Jeanne that she would not — would not see any one. Only 


ELINE VERE. 


245 


Jeanne and no one else would she see about her ! Before lon^^ 
Eline’s quarrel with the Van Raats and her flight to the Ferelyns 
became the general topic of conversation. Of the details of the 
dispute they did not know much ; only, of this they were certain, 
that in that stormy night Eline had been seen sitting in a carriage 
with a night-watchman and a young man, and to say the least of it 
they thought it passing strange ! But then Eline had always been 
rather eccentric. In the winter she had been in the habit of taking 
early morning walks alone in the wood — what respectable young 
girl would think of doing such a thing as that ? Now — that affair 
with Erlevoort too, that was a bit mysterious ; and now there was 
that romance with a young man and a night-watchman ! It was a 
pity certainly, for she was really such a nice girl, so pretty and 
graceful; but had they not always been a strange family, those 
Veres ? 

Betsy was mad with spite at this talk, and she scarcely ventured 
to show herself anywhere, seeking her refuge only at the Ver- 
straetens’ and with Emilie de Woude. 


CHAPTER XXV. 

A MONTH had elapsed, a month which Eline spent with the 
Ferelyns, as Jeanne would not allow her to go until she had 
quite recovered. Reyer had told them that Eline had caught 
a severe cold which, with the least neglect, might prove fatal. 
Jeanne in the meantime tended her with gentle care ; Frans’s little 
office she had had fitted up specially for her, and when Eline 
protested and began again to talk about an hotel, Frans himself 
declared that he thought he ought not to work so hard, a little rest 
was necessary for him. Eline, therefore, embraced Jeanne vl^ith a 
passionate gratitude and stayed on, while her violent fits of coughing 
filled the little house as with a painful echo. 

Her cough was a little better now ; she felt not quite as much 
pain on her chest. But she had grown very thin, her eyes were 
hollow and dull, and her face was wan and sallow. She sat in a 


246 


ELINE VERE. 


big chair close to the little stove, and she gazed out of the 
window and amused herself a little watching the tradesmen — the 
butcher, the greengrocer, the milkman — as they called from house 
to house ; she amused herself watching the servants who opened 
the door — a stout, red-faced one here, a tall thin one there, then 
again the mistress herself, in a black apron and a dirty little hce 
cap. 

Then she rose and looked in the little black-framed glass, simple 
as all around her was. She expected some one, and she looked 
eagerly at her face ; it was such a long time since she had seen 
him ; what sort of impression would she make on him, with that 
sallow face and those sunken eyes ? 

For Betsy had written a long letter to her uncle, Daniel Vere, 
who during Eline’s minority had been her guardian, and who was 
only lately married and living in Brussels. When old Aunt Vere 
died he was still single, so that it was out of the question for 
Eline to make her home with him. He came but seldom to the 
Hague, and when he received Betsy’s letter, in which Eline’ s flight 
was described to him, it seemed to him that he was being drawn 
into matters that did not concern him. He replied to it, however, 
and at the same time wrote to Eline, asking her for an interview. 
His letter surprised her, and agreeably so, and she thought that 
through him she could see a relief from her present position, which, 
when she should have quite recovered, would certainly be no longer 
bearable to her. She therefore replied to him in the most amiable 
terms, and promised to do as he required her on the one condition 
only, that he did not ask her to make her peace with her sister and 
again to make her home with the Van Raats ; that she should on 
any account have to refuse, as the past had already taught her 
that Betsy and she could not get on together ; with whom the fault 
was it was not for her to say. 

Vere then telegraphed what day and hour he would be coming 
to see Eline. And now she awaited him, and examined her 
emaciated features, and feared, as she saw herself so worn and 
emaciated, that she would not be able to shed around her that all- 
powerful charm with which she attracted every man towards her. 
She drew down the curtain a little, so that the light should not fall 
with such a glare on her sallow complexion. In the afternoon he 
came. 

He was tall and slender, with the somewhat languid movements 


ELINE VERE. 


247 

peculiar to all the Veres except Betsy, who was more like her 
mother. On Eline, who had not seen him for two years, he made 
a very favourable impression. He had the appearance of a thorough 
man of the world, and she felt a little ashamed to receive him in 
this little room and amid these humble surroundings. She rose 
slowly and languidly from her seat, and walked towards him, while 
Jeanne shut the door and retired. 

“How do you do, uncle?” said Eline softly. “I am very glad 
to see you, very glad.” 

She held out her hand to him, and pointed to a chair. He sat 
down, looked at her rather searchingly, smiled a little sad smile, 
and shook his head. 

“ For shame, Eline,” he began slowly. ‘‘What sorrow you have 
caused me. Do you know Em very dissatisfied with you, little girl?” 

“ I suppose Betsy has written all sorts of things about me ? ” she 
asked with assumed indifference, but with real curiosity. 

“What Betsy has written me came upon me like a thunderbolt. 
I had no idea that you were so out of sympathy with your sister. 
I thought you were very happy at the Van Raats^ Last spring you 
wrote me such an enthusiastic letter about your engagement, and 
now Betsy tells me that you have released Van Erlevoort from his 
word. But still I had no idea whatever that such scenes had taken 
place. Eline, Eline, how can you allow yourself to be carried away 
like this by your feelings, without the slightest attempt at self- 
control ? ” 

He searched a little for his words, proceeding cautiously, with 
much misgiving whether she would allow him to persuade her to 
another course. The news of her flight had given him"” the idea 
that she was a very violent, impetuous creature. Now her gentle 
reticence seemed to him very suspicious, and he feared every 
moment that she would jump up and do something desperate. But 
she replied very quietly — 

“ Look here, uncle. I ran away from Henk and Betsy, it is true ; 
but that is no reason why you should imagine that I do nothing 
but silly things. I was beside myself with passion because of 
Betsy's aggravating manner. Now I’m sorry that I did not control 
myself, that I did not simply turn my back on her, to leave her 
house the next day in peace and quietness. But I think you will 
agree with me that there are moments in life when — yes, when 
one is no longer master of oneself. ” 

17 


ELINE VERE. 


248 

‘‘And you are determined, then, that you will not return ?” 

“ I thought I had told you as much in my letter,^’ she answered, 
a little piqued. 

“ That is true ; but I hoped— perhaps you would alter your mind.'’ 

“Never!” she said calmly and deliberately, and still with a 
certain hauteur. 

“ Very well then ; if that is the case we shall not return to it. I 
am sorry if that is your decision, but I suppose you have considered 
everything ? ” 

“ Oh yes,” she said, and gave a little cough. 

“ Well, then I must propose something else ; or rather — what 
do you think of doing when you have got rid of that wretched 
cough ? ” 

Eline looked at him with some anxiety, and all her pride vanished. 

“I have been thinking about it myself. I really don’t know. 
Perhaps I shall go and live by myself. I have a good many things 
of my own, and I can be economical. Then perhaps too I can get 
some one to stay with me.” 

And in her fancy she already saw herself ensconced in a set of 
quaint little rooms something like those she occupied now, and her 
eyes filled with tears. 

“That is a sensible idea, at all events. Here in the Hague do 
you think ? ” 

“Well, yes, I daresay; but I really am not certain. Maybe I 
shall go to a smaller place.” 

“ Well, anyhow that is an after consideration. The fact is, there 
is something I wanted to propose to you myself.” 

He took her hand, and glanced at her with his lack-lustre eyes. 
And she thought that perhaps he was about to ask her to come and 
stay with them in Brussels ; if so, should she accept ? 

“ I am going abroad with your aunt, Eline, for the winter. I 
cannot help laughing when I speak about your ‘ aunt,’ for, as you 
know, she is scarcely five years your senior. We are first going to 
Paris, and then perhaps to Spain. And so now I wanted to suggest 
that you should accompany us. You want a little change after 
what has happened ; w'e may perhaps stay abroad right through the 
winter. When you get tired of it you can leave, and then there 
will be time enough to go and live by yourself. With my wife I 
dare say you will get on very well, she is very good company, a 
real Frangatse, What do you think of this plan ? ” 


ELINE VERE. 


249 

Eline looked at him confusedly with her tearful eyes. Yes,' it 
was very true she needed change, and she should travel about right 
through the winter ! And at that thought it was as if a flood of 
sunshine had suddenly lit up the sombre darkness of her soul. 
No life without change Vincent had said. 

“ I really do not know what to say, uncle,” she said with some 
emotion. I am not very cheerful just now, and I fear you won’t 
find me pleasant company.” 

That is nothing at all, my girl ; when you find yourself in 
different surroundings, and see different faces, your ideas will 
change too. There is nothing so necessary in this life as change ; 
we cannot live without it ! ” 

> She started, and looked at him with a smile. It was as if Vincent 
had spoken ! And she felt grateful, very grateful, for his kind offer, 
for his kindly voice. Yes, she consented, consented with gratitude. 

, ‘‘You see, you can come and stay with us in Brussels for a few 
days first, and then we can go ; we do a deal of travelling, and we 
do it economically, but without denying ourselves any pleasure. 
You see, we understand the art, and as for you — you have money 
enough, you are a good catch for anybody, aren’t you, eh ? ” he 
concluded smilingly. 

“la good catch ? My wealth is not very great, I can tell you, 
and I am no longer in the market,” she said with a little sad smile. 
“ You see, I am getting old gradually ; I’ve served my time.” 

He spoke to her as cheeringly as he could. Her trip would 
cure her of all those gloomy ideas. After Jeanne, whom Eline had 
called into the room, had been told of the plan, he left ; he had still 
to pay a visit to the Nassauplein, to the Van Raats. 

Eline remained alone while Jeanne conducted him to the door. 
A multitude of thoughts rushed through her brain, like showering 
rose-leaves, like sparks of sunshine, like glittering bubbles of soap. 
She looked out of the window at the great clouds of dust which 
the wind blew up from the paths and roadways. And she turned 
away shuddering at the grave tints of autumn that met her gaze, 
when all at once her eye fell on Frans’s diary, which was hanging 
on the wall, with the date 15th November distinctly visible. 

Great heavens ! that was the very day which only a few months 
ago Otto and herself had fixed upon as — their wedding day I 
Her gaze was as transfixed on those black figures. A wild, a hope- 
less grief and remorse suddenly ovei-whelmed all her new bright 


250 


ELINE VERE. 


happiness, and savagely she flung herself into her big chair and 
sobbed as if she would sob her very life out. 

The news soon spread ; the Eekhofs, the Hydrechts, and the Van 
Larens repeated it to one another ; Eline Vere was going abroad 
with her uncle, Daniel Vere, who lived in Brussels and had only 
been married a year. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

Her head languidly resting against the red velvet cushions, 
Eline was seated alone in the ladies’ coupd She listened mechanic- 
ally to the rattling of the wheels along the rail, and it seemed to 
her as if she heard a nervous tattoo in that monotonous hard 
melody of steel and iron. Once or twice she took her handkerchief 
and wiped the glass to have a glance outside, where the gray 
evening shades were falling, and an opaque mist was rising over 
the meadows. In a few minutes she would be in the Hague, in 
the Hague, where now she had not been for eighteen months, and 
after her continuous wanderings the place seemed dear to her now, 
a place where yet she might find something of a home. 

For eighteen months she had been travelling, and in all that 
time she had lived with strangers without the smallest spot that 
she could call her own. The changeful life she had led made the 
time pass rapidly ; change, ceaseless change had been hers. New 
cities, new scenes, new people, wherever she went, until she was 
tired, dead tired of all this variety. Now she longed for rest and 
calmness, for a long dull period of slumbering repose, free from 
dreams and free from sorrows. 

Something of a home ! Should she indeed find that, with that 
sad, aged woman who loved her, but who did not understand her 
as she was now — quiet, sadly quiet, and tired, utterly tired of her 
young life? For henceforth she would be sad and quiet and tired 
of it all, she would not again excite herself to an artificial glitter 
of gaiety, as she had been forced to do among the strangers with 
whom she had sojourned. 


ELINE VERE. 


251 


She heard the shrill whistle of the engine, and the lights that 
glimmered through the mist grew in number at every moment. 
She was approaching the Hague slowly. She rose, arranged her 
hat and her veil, placed her book and her scent-bottle in her 
leather satchel, and sat waiting, looking somewhat thin and worn, 
her face sallow and emaciated, her eyes dull and sunk deep within 
their sockets. She sat waiting until the train glided into the station 
and came to a stop. 

Her heart beat and the tears glistened on her lashes.. Through 
the steam-covered glass, in the dull glow of the gas-lights, she could 
see the busy turmoil of the station, and she heard the loud voices 
of the guard calling out — ■ 

“ Hague, Hague ! ” 

The carriage-door was opened ; she rose, her portmanteau, her 
rug and sunshades in her hand. Amid the rushing to and fro of 
the travellers her eyes sought Paul ; she knew that he was coming 
to fetch her, and she gave a sudden start when she saw a familiar 
burly form make his way through the crowd and approach her. 

. Henk ! ” she cried. 

He helped her out and she nearly fell into his arms, while Paul, 
who followed him, relieved her of her luggage. 

“ Elly — my child ! Elly, dearest ! ” said Henk in a choking voice, 
and gently he kissed her, while she lay her sobbing head on his 
shoulder. She scarcely heard Paul’s greeting, and quite mechanic- 
ally she held out her hand to him. A wild sob escaped her. But 
Henk still Spoke on, he took her arm and led her to the front of the 
station where his carriage was waiting. She let him lead her, full 
of undefined thoughts, full of a vague sadness, and she leant on his 
hand and stepped into the carriage. 

“ We shall wait for Paul a moment,” said Henk, who took his 
place beside her. 

She did not answer, but lay back in the cushions and covered 
her head with her hand. 

I did not expect to see you, Henk ; it’s very kind of you, very 
kind indeed,” she at last was able to say. He gently pressed her 
hand, and leaned his head out of the window. Paul was approaching. 

<^A11 the luggage is right,” he said, and sprang into the carriage. 
** Well, Elly dear, I am glad to see you again.” 

The footman closed the door and the carriage rolled away. Paul 
said nothing more, neither did Eline or Henk. By the light of 


ELINE VERB. 


252 

every gas-lamp they passed, Paul saw Eline lying back in the 
cushions motionless, her hands covering her face, her bosom heaving 
with sobs, and they remained silent. 

It was past ten when the carriage drew up in front of the house 
in the Laan van Meerdervoort. The footman rang the bell, the 
door was opened, they stepped out. In the hall stood Madame van 
Raat, trembling with emotion, and Eline rushed towards her and 
flung her arms round her neck. 

“ Dear, dear little madam ! dear little mother ! ” she sobbed, 
“you will have me stay with you, won’t you.?” 

The old lady wept like a chill, and took Eline’s arm and led her 
into the dining-room ; the table was laid, and supper was waiting. 

** Oh, what a dear old darling you are ! ” cried Eline. “ I am so 
glad, so glad that I may come and stay with you.” She clasped 
the weeping old lady in her arms, and Madame van Raat made 
her sit down on the sofa, and sat down beside her with her arm 
round her waist. What a time it was since she had seen Eline, 
and how was she looking now ? All right ? ** Oh yes, yes, I am 
quite well,” cried Eline, and kissed her again and again. 

But the old lady undid Eline’s veil, and helped her to remove her 
hat and her cloak. And oh, very soon she saw — that emaciated 
frame, those hollow cheeks, those dull eyes. 

“ My child,” she cried, unable to contain herself, “ my child, oh, 
how changed you are, how bad you look ! ” 

Eline embraced her passionately, and hid her glowing little head 
in the old lady’s bosom. 

“ Oh, you must not take any notice of that, I am a little tired of 
travelling — perhaps I look a little pale, eh ? Really you shall see, 
when I’ve been with you a little time again, I shall look as fresh as 
a daisy.” She smiled at the old lady through her tears, and kissed 
her repeatedly, now her cheeks, then her old shrivelled hand. 

Henk and Paul entered, and they too were touched by Eline’s 
altered appearance, but although it alarmed them, they said nothing. 
The old lady could not keep her eyes from Eline ; she wiped her eyes, 
and asked Eline whether she would not like to wash her hands. 

“ No, never mind,” cried Eline ; “ I feel a little dusty, but it does 
not matter. Oh, Henk, my dear old Henk.” 

She motioned Henk towards her, made him sit down by her side, 
and clasped his big head in her little hands. 


ELINE VERE. 253 

“Aren’t you — aren’t you angry with me any more, Henk?” she 
murmured close to his ear. 

He bit his lips with emotion. “ I never was — angry with you,” he 
stammered with a choking voice. She kissed him, then released 
her hold of him, gave a sigh of relief, and cast a long glance around 
her. Yes, she had found something of a home. 

They sat down at table, but Eline had no appetite ; she just 
touched her soup, but eat she could not at all. But she asked Paul 
to fill and refill her glass, for she was thirsty. The wine and her 
emotion brought a blush to her sallow cheeks, and when the old 
lady asked her why Uncle Daniel had not brought her home, she 
laughed, a loud and nervous laugh. Oh, she could very well 
journey from Brussels to the Hague by herself; uncle wanted to 
take her, but she refused his escort, she was so used to travelling 
now. Nothing was easier than travelling, she need only pack her 
trunks, ask a few questions here and there, and take her seat in the 
carriage. Why, it was nothing. 

Quickly and nervously she spoke on, her glass, which she re- 
peatedly put to her lips, clasped in her hands. She spoke about 
her life in Paris, in Bordeaux, and in Spain. Ah ! Spain, there she 
lived again. Spain ! the land of romance, the land of ancient 
Moorish chivalry and elegance. As for Granada and the Alhambra 
it was grand, magnificent ; to the bull-fights she would never go, 
although Elise had laughed at her, but she could not stand it, such 
a dirty thing to see those dead, mangled, bleeding beasts. 

Paul laughed, and she laughed too, and pitied the poor bulls, and 
still she spoke on ; the old lady continually urged her to eat some- 
thing, but she refused. 

‘‘Really not, little madam, really not, thank you. I can only 
drink a little. I’m so thirsty. May I have another glass ?” 

“ Can you take so much wine, child?” 

“Oh yes, it makes me sleep beautifully. If I don’t take wine I 
lie awake all night, and that is so wretched. Cordova is a beautiful 
city too, there is such a grand mosque there.” 

And she allowed herself to be driven forward along the nervous 
stream of her travelling impressions. Why did not Paul travel 
more than he did ? if she were a young man and had money, she 
would always travel, always. Long journeys would she make, from 
New York to San Francisco, and then by sea to Japan, all over the 
world. How beautiful! It was splendid, splendid in a railway 


254 


ELINE VERE. 


carriage, she could pass her life in a train ! The old lady shook her 
head, gently smiling at her enthusiasm. 

But nicer still than all it is to come and live with you here, my 
dear little madam, my little dot,” she cried; and with sudden 
impetuosity she embraced the gray-haired old lady. 

After supper Madame van Raat suggested that Eline should go 
and take a little rest in her room. Eline agreed, but little madam 
was to stay with her — would she ? Paul had an appointment with 
some friends, and took his leave, and Henk too rose. 

“ May Betsy come and see you to-morrow?” he whispered a little 
anxiously. She smiled and looked at him questioningly, pressing 
his hand. 

Certainly,” she replied ; “kiss her for me, will you? And how 
is Ben, has he g^own much ? ” 

“ Oh yes, he is an immense boy. You shall see him to-morrow. 
Well, good-bye, Elly, good-night.” 

“ Good-bye, Henk, till to-morrow.” 

Henk left, and Madame took Eline up-stairs to her room. 

“ For the present I cannot give you a sitting-room, Elly,” she said 
on the staircase, “ at least so long as Paul is with me.” 

“ Where does he think of going to then ? ” 

“ He wants to live by himself; that is best too for a young man, 
is it not ? But your bedroom is a very large one, you know that 
room next to mine ? ” 

“ Oh yes, I remember, *tis a splendid room.” 

In her room the gas was lit, and the French windows were open, 
so that the cool evening air blew inside. Eline coughed a little 
when she entered. 

“ ’Tis rather cool, I shall close the window,” said the old lady. 

Eline looked about her in astonishment, and her eyes grew 
moist. 

“ But, little madam, little madam, what have you done ? ” she 
exclaimed with emotion. 

For wherever her eye went she saw some souvenir of her rooms 
on the Nassauplein. There was her Psyche yonder, her toilet 
dishes ; in this corner her writing-desk, her letter-rack ; there 
hung her Venetian mirror ; round about her in tasteful profusion 
her statuettes were arranged ; while almost the only thing that 
was new in the room was the big bedstead, on which the dark blue 
curtains were suspended like a baldaquin from the wall. 


ELINE VERE. 


255 


“ Docs it suit you ?” asked Madame van Raat “ I tliought you 
would like your own things best ; but, child, what is the matter now, 
what are you crying about ? ” 

She allowed Eline’s arms to encircle her, and Eline wept on her 
shoulder and kissed her again and again. The old lady made her 
sit down on the couch, and sat down beside her, and Eline still 
leaned against her as a weeping child leans against her mother. 

Oh, now, now at last I begin to feel the luxury of rest,” she 
said wearily, “ for I am so tired, so tired.” 

Shall I leave you alone then, if you want to sleep?” 

No, no, stay, do stay here ; it is not the five hours in the train 
that has made me tired. I am tired, tired of everything, and that 
sleep will not cure ; but still now I feel that I am resting, not because 
I am sitting down, but because it is on you that I am leaning, and 
because I know that you care for me. You see I needed it so 
much — in all this travelling, among all those strange people — I 
needed somebody upon whom I could lean, somebody who would 
give me a little, a very little love and affection, but it was all so 
cold, so deadly cold around me, with all the kindliness and courtesy. 
Uncle Daniel too is just like ail the rest, very friendly, very kind, 
very polite, but so cold. With Elise I was always having some 
joke or another, all about her is light and airy as foam, but she 
too is cold, cold and cynical, and with all those strangers I was 
always obliged to be on my friendliest behaviour, and always 
smiling, for who would have cared to be bothered with a guest who 
was not jolly ? And where was I to go to, if I did not lodge some- 
Y/here or was on my journey ?” 

But, child, you could always have come to me, and I should 
have written to you before this if I had thought you were so un- 
happy, but I always imagined that you Avere very happy indeed.” 

“ ilappy ! ” groaned Eline, yes, happy as a horse that cannot go 
further, and is driven along by blows and kicks ; and she laughed, 
a laugh of bitter sadness. 

Her laugh cut into Madame van Raat’s soul like a knife. The 
tears sparkled in her dulled eyes and she could not speak, she 
could only clasp Eline closer to her breast. 

Yes, that's right, hold me close to you,” murmured Eline softly. 
“ This is rest, rest indeed— my dear, dear old pet.” 

Thus they remained seated for a long time, and neither of them 
spoke another word until the old lady insisted that Eline should 


ELINE VERE. 


256 

try and sleep. She would stay close to her, Eline need but open a 
door, and she would be with her. 

If you want anything say so, or you will ring, won’t you, child ? 
Do exactly as if you were at home. Ask for whatever you want.’’ 

Eline promised she would, and the old lady left her. But 
Eline’s heart was still too full for her to retire to bed at once. She 
glanced around her, and in every nook, in every corner, she recog- 
nized her own vases, her plates, and her photos. Then her glance 
fell upon a Japanese box on the table. Her little bunch of keys was 
lying beside it, she took it up, found the right key, and opened the 
box. In it there were a number of letters discoloured with age — 
letters from old schoolmates, letters from Aunt Vere, written at a 
time when she was at boarding-school. The former she would 
tear up, for she felt no longer an attachment for the gushing 
professions of girls whom she never saw, and whom she had for- 
gotten as they had forgotten her. A letter or two she found also 
from her father— her father who had been so dear to her — and she 
kissed the paper with veneration as though it had been sacred. 
But all at once, while she was arranging her papers, there fell from 
those discoloured pages a small piece of cardboard. She stooped, 
picked it up from the floor — and she turned white as a sheet, while 
her eyes stared wildly in front of her. 

“ Oh ! ” she groaned, as if an old wound had suddenly been opened. 

Oh, oh heavens ! ” 

It was a small portrait of Otto’s. How did it come there, among 
all those old letters ? Ah, yes, she remembered, it was the proof of 
a photograph which once he had had taken for her. The portrait 
itself, which during her engagement she had constantly carried 
about her, she had returned him, together with his other presents, 
with the Bucchi fan. This little proof had got lost among her 
letters, and she had never given it another thought. 

Oh ! ” she groaned again. “Oh ! ” 

She wept, she sobbed, she pressed the portrait to her lips. 
That little proof was now her greatest treasure, and for ever — yes, 
for ever — she would carry it about her, it was the only thing that 
was left to her out of her great happiness, that happiness that 
had slipped from between her fingers like a precious bird. And 
this was the only little feather it had left behind. 

“ Otto — Otto,” she murmured. And her tears and kisses covered 
the little piece of cardboard, 


ELINE VERB. 


257 


In her own room Madame van Raat still sat meditating. Sadly, 
her eyes full of tears, she shook her head. How was it possible, 
while she had been so long happy with her husband, that her dear 
little Elly had known so little of real pleasure ? and in her piety — 
the piety and childlike faith of a simple heart, a heart full of 
gratitude for that which once had been granted it — she folded her 
shrivelled hands and prayed, prayed for her dear little Elly, prayed 
that she might be happy. 

Next morning, at the breakfast-table, a sudden impulse moved 
Eline. 

‘‘Little madam,” she began in soft, trembling tones, and she 
laid her hands on that of the old lady. “ Little madam, I wanted 
to ask you something. Do you see anything of Erlevoort now ? ” 

The old lady looked at her as though she would fain have 
guessed Eline^s thoughts, but she could not gather anything from 
those feverish eyes, from those nervously-moving fingers. 

“ What makes you ask that, Elly ? ” 

It was the first time that she had spoken to Eline about Otto 
since the breaking of her engagement. 

“ Oh, I should so like to know if it affected him much, and if 
he^s happy now. Do you never meet him ? ” 

“ I have met him once or twice at my brother-in-law’s on the 
Princessegracht.” 

“ How does he look ? ” 

“ He is not much changed, he may have aged a little perhaps, 
but it is not very noticeable. He is certainly a little quiet and 
rather gloomy, but then he was never very boisterous, was he ?” 

“No,” murmured Eline, brimful of past memories. 

“ He is not in the Hague now ; he is at the Horze, I believe.” 

“ Have I driven him away, I wonder?” thought Eline, and with 
an effort to make it appear as though the interest she took in 
him was for his own sake, not for hers, she softly said, “ Then I 
suppose he has got over it ; there is nothing I should like better 
than to know him to be liappy, he deserves it. He is a very good 
fellow.” 

The old lady said nothing, and Eline could with difficulty keep 
herself from crying. Oh, was it not terrible that even before her 
dear old little pet she was obliged to do violence to herself and bo 
a hypocrite ? Oh, what a hollow sham it all was ! She, she had 


ELINE VERE. 


258 

always shammed, to her own self as well as to others, and she still' 
shammed now. So inured had she grown to her shamming and 
hypocrisy, that now she could not do otherwise. 

‘‘And now there is something that I want to show you, which I 
hope you will like,” said the old lady, who guessed something of 
Eline’s sadness ; “ follow me.” She led her down-stairs, and opened 
the door of the drawing-room. 

“ You know I used to have such an old cripple of a piano, because, 
you see, it was only for Paul, who jingled a little on it to study his 
singing, but now just look here.” 

They walked inside, and in the place of the old cripple they 
found a brand-new Bechstein ; her music-books in their red and 
gilt bindings lay on the top. 

It will suit your voice splendidly, the tone is so clear.’* 

Eline’s lips trembled and twitched nervously. 

“ But, madam,” she stammered, “why did you do this — oh why, 
why did you do it? I — I don’t sing any more.” 

“ Why, why not?” asked the old lady, quite alarmed. 

Eline with a sigh threw herself in a chair. 

“ I may not sing any more,” she exclaimed almost bitterly, for 
the new piano most cruelly awoke the memory of her splendid 
voice of former days. “ The doctors whom I consulted in Paris 
have forbidden me ; you see I have been coughing all the winter, 
and it is only lately that my cough has been less. During the 
last two winters I have coughed continually, and had such a pain 
here on my chest. In the summer-time I am quite well.” 

“ But, child,” said the old lady anxiously, “didn’t you take good 
care of yourself then, while you were abroad ?” 

“ Oh yes, the Des Luynes recommended me to some specialists 
in Paris, and they sounded and tapped me and knocked me about 
until I was tired of it ; besides that, I was constantly under treat- 
ment of two regular doctors, but in the end I had enough of it. 
They did not cure me, while they told me I should always have to 
reside in a warm climate. But I could not remain vegetating all 
by myself in Algiers, or Heaven knows where, and Uncle Daniel 
had to return to Brussels ; so you see,” she concluded with a little 
nervous laugh, “ I am a hopeless wreck in every way.” 

The old lady pressed Eline’s head to her bosom, with the tears 
glistening in her eyes. 

“’Tis a pity, because of the nice piano,” said Eline, releasing 


ELINE VERE. 


259 


herself from the old lady’s embrace and seating herself nervously 
at the piano. “ What a full clear tone, how rich and beautiful ! ” 

Her fingers glided quickly along the notes, the tones seemed to 
sob with grief at that voice that was lost. The old lady looked on 
sadly, she had nursed herself in the belief and hope that Eline 
would sing with Paul ; that Paul, attracted and charmed by the 
music, would stay much at home in the evening ; that a melodious 
sweet sociability would once more fill her lonely, silent rooms ; 
but all she heard was the loud sob-like notes as they came from 
under Eline’ s fingers, the weeping dew of a chromatic bravura, 
and the great running tears of painful staccatos. 

“Yes, I shall practise my piano playing. I never was a great 
pianist, but I shall do what I can ; you shall hear some music, 
dearie. What a tone, what a beautiful clear tone ! ” 

And the clear, liquid notes followed one another as in a flowing 
torrent of grief. 

In honour of Eline, Paul took care to be home for coffee. In the 
afternoon Madame Verstraeten came with Marie, and they were 
followed by Emilie de Woude. Eline received them cordially, and 
showed herself pleased to see them. A strange feeling came over 
Marie now that she heard and saw Eline once more ; something of 
a fear it was, a misgiving, whether Eline would also discover any 
change in her ; but Eline did not seem to notice anything, and 
talked on ; she talked about her travels, about the cities she had 
visited, about the people she had seen, talked on continuously with 
nervous rapidity, the thoughts rushing closely one after another. 
She could not help it, it was the nervous state in which she existed 
just now, a nervousness that overmastered her wherever she might 
be, and ever kept her fingers in motion either crumpling up her 
handkerchief, plucking at the fringe of the tablecloth, or swaying 
the tassels of her fauteuil backwards and forwards. Her elegant 
languor, her graceful calm of former days was completely gone. 

About four o’clock the drawing-room door was opened, and 
Betsy entered, leading Ben by her hand. Eline rose and hurried 
towards her to hide her confusion under a show of cordiality. 
She embraced her sister impetuously, and fortunately Betsy found 
some appropriate words to say. Then Eline overwhelmed Ben 
.with her kisses. He was a big boy for his five years, but in his 
eyes there was that undefinable, sleepy expression common to a 


26 o 


ELINE VERE. 


backward child. Still a happy memory seemed to steal over 
him, for his little lips opened into a glad smile, and round Eline’s 
neck he flung his little chubby arms and kissed her. After that 
neither of the sisters seemed to desire any very confidential con- 
versation, and Betsy left, together with the Verstraetens and Emilie, 
and Eline did not press her to stay. Both of them felt that no 
closer tie than one of mere conventionality bound them together. 
During the last eighteen months they had not seen each other, 
and now that they did meet it seemed to them as though they were 
strangers, who made a show of politeness and cordiality, saying all 
kinds of nice things, while a chill indifference filled their hearts. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

Some weeks had passed by, and Madame van Raat was beginning 
to feel very uneasy about Eline’s health. She wrote to Dr. Reyer, 
and he had visited Eline. Madame van Raat, who was present at 
his visit, did not form a very great opinion of the ability of the 
dapper little doctor, who talked about nothing but Paris and Spain, 
and seemed only to have come to have a little chat. When two days 
later Reyer repeated his visit, she received him somewhat coldly. 
She left the doctor and patient alone together for a moment. 
Reyer rose somewhat in her favour when, after he had gone, Eline 
told her how carefully Reyer had examined her. Then, after all, 
he did have an intelligent idea of Eline’s condition, thought the old 
lady; and under his graceful elegance she discovered Reyer’ s firm- 
ness of will and strength of character, and with it the belief in his 
skill too grew fixed in her mind. At his third visit, after he had 
left Eline, she took him aside. He told her frankly that he would 
not mislead her, that he would tell her the whole truth. Eline had 
the germs of pulmonary consumption, the consequence of a severe 
cold which had been neglected. He would exert his skill to the 
utmost in his endeavours to destroy that germ, but beyond all that 
he had discovered something in Eline, something which he might 


ELINE VERE. 


261 

call the fatal taint of her family, Eline’s father had suffered from 
it, so did Vincent. It was a soul-disturbing unrest of the nerves, 
which were like the tangled chords of a broken instrument. He 
would not presume to more skill than he really possessed ; it was 
not in his power to renew those chords, or to tune them so that 
they should once more produce an harmonious tone. The delicate 
fibres of a flower, which a too rough handling had bruised, it was 
not for him to infuse with fresh sap and renewed vigour. That 
was a task which Madame understood better than he. She could 
tend and nurture that flower, she could handle Eline so delicately, 
with such gentleness, that, chord for chord, she might yet call back 
into her prematurely-wasted frame the whilom vigour of her youth. 
Calmness, loving care, these were the remedies of which Eline 
stood in need ; then with the approach of winter, a milder clime 
than that of Holland. 

The tears came into Madame van Raat^s eyes as she listened to 
him ; when he left she pressed his hand cordially, full of grateful 
sympathy, but the task which he had given her weighed heavily 
on her shoulders. She feared that Reyer had overrated the power 
of her affection for the poor child ; she inwardly suspected that a 
love other than hers was necessary to draw forth sweet melody from 
that soul which was now so sadly out of tune. 

At his next visit Dr. Reyer insisted that Eline should try and 
find some occupation that would bring some life into that languid 
melancholy to which she had given herself up from morning till 
night. Eline found an excuse for her idleness in the warm summer 
weather ; but now that the leaves were falling, now that the cool 
winds of early autumn began to blow refreshingly in her face, it 
seemed to her that she breathed anew, and she felt much more 
cheerful, and declared her determination to seek some occupa- 
tion. Madame van Raat continued to look at her with great 
anxiety, for with Eline’s renewed vivacity her cough had also 
returned — a dull, hacking cough, which sounded as though it would 
choke her. In the meantime she now dressed herself with a little 
more care and taste than she had done during the past summer, 
and she practised industriously on her new Bechstein ; but music 
alone did not satisfy her, she needed another occupation, and that 
she now sought elsewhere. Although she somewhat neglected her 
former acquaintances, she still met them occasionally in Betsy’s 
drawing-room. While there one evening, out of sheer ennui she 


262 


ELINE VERE. 


arranged with an old lady, a Miss Eekhof,'an aunt of Ange and 
Ldonie, to go with her on the following Sunday to the French 
Church. Eline went; a new preacher with great black dreamy 
eyes and white aristocratic hands preached that day. She re- 
turned home in ecstasy, and told Madame van Raat excitedly 
about the eloquent sermon to which she had listened. She inwardly 
regretted that a Protestant Church was so cold, so empty, so bare, 
that the singing was so bad ; gladly she would have been a Catholic ; 
on an Ave Maria, or on a Gloria in Excelsis, her soul would have 
risen on high as on the wings of melody ; at the holy transfiguration, 
in the mystic glamour of the altar, she would have trembled with 
glorious fervour, while the incense would have imbued her very 
being with a flavour of theatrical piety. But she was not a Catholic, 
and she consoled herself with her French Church ; she now went 
there frequently with Miss Eekhof, until it became a regular habit 
with her, and she occupied a fixed seat. The acquaintances she 
met there she greeted with a serious little face, with soft dreamy 
eyes and a melancholy droop about her little mouth, and every 
one began to wonder at Eline’s new piety. Miss Eekhof was on 
the committee of several charities, and it needed but little per- 
suasion on her part to induce Eline to enrol herself as a member 
of some of them, and many a time Miss Eekhof persuaded her to 
accompany her on her visits to the poor. 

For a month or so she found a pleasure in this new piety, then 
the monotony of the preacher’s unctuous words began to pall on 
her, and she could tell beforehand how he would lift up his eyes at 
the singing, or what movement he would make with his white hand 
when he pronounced the benediction. The singing quite unnerved 
her, hearing it rising as she did from so many hoarse, uncultivated 
throats. The plain white walls, the simply-constructed pulpit, and 
the wooden pews began more and more to irritate her ; she began 
to suspect that all these people who had come there to be edified 
were really a set of hypocrites. The pious fervour of the preacher 
was a sham ; the dignified bearing of the elders was a sham. Miss 
Eekhof by her side, she too was shamming ; and she herself, with 
her soft melting eyes and her serious face, what was she but a 
sham ! 

Through Miss Eekhof she heard of many a tiff, many a petty 
dispute among the lady directors of the different societies, and of 
their good intentions she now too began to doubt. Oh, she hated 


ELINE VERB. 


263 


that philanthropy, which was a cloak for so much jealousy and envy, 
and she could no longer believe in the sincerity of those ladies, 
not even of those who had moved her to sympathy ; every one of 
them shammed and had some motives of her own, every one was 
an egoist and thought only of herself, under the cloak of working 
for others. 

And after that first month she felt thoroughly disgusted with the 
poor people whom she had visited with the old lady. The stuffy 
closeness of their dirty little rooms, their wretchedness and misery, 
seemed to choke her very breath. Indeed, she would have been 
suffocated had she but been forced for one single day to breathe 
such an atmosphere, and as she mistrusted the lady managers, so 
she mistrusted the poor. Stories of wealthy beggars rose to her 
mind ; she had read of beggars living in London who were as rich 
as bankers, and who spent their evenings in feasting and pleasure ; 
and although she remained a member of the different societies, 
and often enough gave Miss Eekhof some money for an ailing 
widow or a blind old organ-grinder, she no longer went to church, 
nor to these dirty people. 

Winter approached, and on account of her cough Eline remained 
at home a good deal with Madame van Raat ; in dull listlessness 
the days dragged by, one after another without change, without a 
break in the monotony ; for the hundredth time Eline asked her- 
self to what end she lived, why indeed should she live if she could 
not be happy. After this disappointment in her own philanthropy 
and piety she would trust no one ; she looked around her, and she 
did not believe that Georges and Lili cared for each other now 
that they were married, or that they were happy j no doubt they 
were deceived in each other, and now they shammed so as to 
hide it. She did not believe that Betsy was happy although she 
was rich, for how could it be possible that she cared for Henk, 
and did not long for a more passionate love .? And now she did 
not believe either that Otto had ever loved her ; how could he, 
seeing that his character was so entirely different from hers? 
At one moment even her suspicion grew so intense and so all- 
absorbing that she no longer believed in Madame van Raat’s 
unselfish affection for her. Madame van Raat had hoped to find 
in her an agreeable companion, and now no doubt she was dis- 
appointed. Yes, Madame van Raat shammed as all the others 
shammed. At one time such bitter feelings as these would have 

18 


ELINE VERB. 


264 

driven Eline to despair, but now so much bitterness had already 
entered her soul, that even those feelings could no longer irritate 
her ; she remained quite indifferent under them. What did it matter 
to her that life was one great lie ? it was so, and could not be helped, 
she could not alter it. She must play her part, and lie like all the 
rest of them. 

At least, when she could not do otherwise, when they excited 
her to emotion, to ‘‘life'’ ; for as long as they did not, she would lie 
down, lie down in her blank indifference as in a deadening rest. 
Thus she thought, and forced her youth to stoop under the yoke of 
that apathy. To it she gave herself up completely, she even lost 
her charm of manner. Among her acquaintances she no longer 
excited any pity, and gradually she grew quite rude and disdainful ; 
she got into the habit of staying in bed the greater part of the 
morning, and although Madame van Raat disapproved of it, she 
nevertheless had Eline’s breakfast taken to her, because otherwise 
she would not breakfast at all. 

Eline felt well enough that she could not go on leading this kind 
of life ; something she could not have described continually irritated 
her in Madame van Raat and in her house. Involuntarily Eline 
allowed her peevish fits to overmaster her, so that she addressed the 
old lady in words of passionate irritation. Then the old lady would 
merely look at her with a sad expression, and Eline felt at once 
how wrong she was. Sometimes she was too proud to acknowledge 
it, and then she had a sulking fit which perhaps lasted a day or two, 
and during which she scarcely spoke a word. At other times, again, 
she was so brimming over with remorse that she would sobbingly 
throw herself upon her knees, lay her head in the old lady’s lap, 
and beg for her pardon. No, little madam should not take notice 
of her wretched fits of temper. She could not make them out her- 
self, and she could not control them. Oh, they were like so many 
demons, who dragged her away against her will wherever they 
would have her. The old lady wept as well, kissed her, and the 
next day the same demons dragged Eline along with them. No, 
it would not do, thought Eline. She wrote a long letter to her 
Uncle Daniel and Elise. She wrote that, loving and affectionate 
as Madame van Raat was, she felt very unhappy, and that she 
would die with melancholy did she stay there — she longed for 
other surroundings. 

Uncle Daniel came to the Hague, and asked Eline in the 


ELINE VERE. 


265 

presence of the old lady if she had quite forgotten the family in 
Brussels, and if she would not like to pay them a visit. 

Eline did not know what to decide, but the old lady herself 
urged Eline not to refuse her uncle’s invitation, and go to 
Brussels. When Daniel Vere had left, Madame van Raat, as 
though crushed under a heavy disappointment, remained seated 
motionless on her chair ; and her gray head, with its dull, staring 
eyes, drooped with even more than its wonted languor upon her 
chest. In two days Eline would leave her ; there was the end then 
of all her expectations. She had hoped, old and weak as she was, to 
be of some use to this young life, and to infuse a fresh vigour into 
this dulled youth, and — and she guessed it — Eline grew more and 
more listless ; Eline longed for change. How could she, old woman 
that she was, have had such presumption ? 

Eline did not fail to notice this silent grief, and a great despair 
overmastered her, a despair at her own egoism. She had not given 
a thought to the old lady when she wrote to Uncle Daniel, it was 
only of herself that she had thought ; and now she caused the old 
lady pain by her departure, while she felt convinced that she, after 
her change of residence, would remain the same as she, faded in 
body and soul, had now been for the last two years, and, amid 
nervous sobbing, fell back on the sofa, to rise again immediately 
in a wild, indefinite terror. Her eyes glittered wildly, and her 
fingers were constantly moving, touching a vase here, tangling 
the fringe of the curtains, or scratching fantastic figures on the be- 
vapoured window-panes. It seemed to her suddenly as if she had 
just awakened from a dream, and the memory of what had passed 
before completely forsook her. 

I suppose you did not understand me ? ” she asked doubt- 
fully of the old lady, whose sad glance had constantly followed 
her. 

“ I — I think — I did ! ” stammered she, inwardly shocked at the 
picture of lost happiness which Eline presented. 

Eline looked at her with a vacant stare ; for a moment she felt a 
great regret at her confession, of which she scarcely longer re- 
membered the words. But the sympathy beamed from the old 
lady’s eyes reassured her. 

“ You did understand me ? You understand why it is that I can 
no longer be happy?” she asked in a voice of bitter sadness, as 
once more she sank down on her footstool. 


266 


ELINE VERB. 


The old bdy did not answer, but, with her eyes full of tears, she'* 
threw her arms round Eline’s neck and kissed her. Both remained 
thus for a moment in silence. 

“ And can you now forgive me for leaving you ? ” 

“ Oh, why do you not stay with me ? ” 

“ I’m a trouble and a sorrow to you. I do not give you the 
slightest pleasure. I can do nothing for you, and you can do 
nothing for me.” 

Yes, indeed, it was too true. The old lady could do nothing for 
her — no one could. 

******* 

They found nothing more to say to each other. Both understood 
well enough that they could render each other no help in bearing 
the burdens of life, that neither could be of any comfort to the 
other. But now the old lady began to doubt, too, whether even 
Uncle Daniel or Elise could be of any comfort to Eline. And 
though they said not another word, still the old lady sat there with 
Eline clasped close to her bosom. 

It grew dark, and a cheerless chill began to fill the rooms. 
Sombre shadows were descending in every corner behind the 
draperies and along the walls. The old lady shivered with the 
chill atmosphere, but she did not rise to ring the bell for the 
servant to look after the dying fire, for Eline had fallen asleep with 
her head resting on her shoulder. Were it not for Eline’s heavy 
breathing, Madame van Raat would have thought that death had 
overtaken her. The waxen pallor of those emaciated features was 
like unto the dew of death. 

Eline slept on, and it grew chiller and chiller. The old lady 
glanced at the stove ; not a spark of fire was to be seen. Slowly 
she removed the woollen pelerine from her shoulders, and gently 
spread it over Eline’s sleeping form. 


ELINE VERB. 


267 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

A MONTH had passed, during which Eline had been living a life 
of semi-lethargy, of languid indifference, at the house of her uncle 
in the Avenue Louise at Brussels. Her cough was still very 
troublesome, but she felt herself comparatively at ease in her 
surroundings. Elise, though she chattered somewhat, seemed 
rather to like her ; and Uncle Daniel, though he was somewhat 
cold in his studied politeness, was very amiable also. Sometimes, 
indeed, a suspicion rose to her mind that they shammed as every 
one in the Hague had shammed, but she would not stop to analyze 
this doubt ; she was satisfied to allow her brain to be gradually 
enveloped by the lethargic indifference which was more and more 
becoming a part of her very being. 

Quite unexpectedly one day Uncle Daniel received a letter from 
Vincent Vere from New York. They were not in the habit of 
corresponding, and uncle was somewhat surprised. Eline, whose 
correspondence with her cousin had not been of very long duration, 
now that his name sounded so unexpectedly in her ears felt her 
interest in him revive ; she was very anxious to know what the 
contents of his letter might be. Perhaps he asked for money. 

But in this Eline was mistaken. Vincent asked for no money, 
nor even for a recommendation of any help whatever. He simply 
wrote that he intended to take a trip to Europe with his friend 
Lawrence St. Clare, and they would visit Brussels. This letter 
roused Eline somewhat from her mental lethargy. She called to 
mind how Vincent, languid and weak, had reclined on her sofa in 
his Turkish dressing-gown, and how she had tended him. With 
this memory the thought of C tto became mingled, and with nervous 
agitation her fingers played around the black enamelled locket of 
her chain. Had she not fancied that Vincent loved her and that 
she loved him ? Were any of those feelings now still remaining in 
her heart? No, those feelings were gone — vanished like birds that 
had flown away. Uncle and Elise talked a little about Vincent, 
and then remained silent; but Eline, though she said nothing, 
thought a great deal about him and his American friend. 

After a week or two Uncle Daniel received a second letter from 
Vincent, this time dated from Paris. In a few days the two young 


268 


ELINE VERE. 


men arrived, and they remained to dinner. Uncle and Elise ouf 
of politeness asked them to make their stay in the house, but St. 
Clare refused — they had already taken their rooms at the Hotel des 
Flandres. 

Vincent was not at all changed in his appearance and his move- 
ments, and Eline all at once remarked, when both of them were 
standing beside each other, and she saw her face reflected in the 
glass, how greatly she had aged. He in his elegant, gentlemanly 
attire was the same as he had been two years ago. His face even, 
beside her own yellow, emaciated features, seemed to her healthier 
than ever she had seen it before. She in her black lace, a material 
which she now constantly wore, with her drooping shoulders and 
her sombre, lack-lustre eyes, seemed a mere wreck of her former 
sparkling youth. Lawrence St. Clare made a very agreeable im- 
pression both on Eline and on Elise. With her ideas of a Yankee, 
Eline had rather fancied him somewhat boorish and rough — perhaps 
chewing, swearing, and eternally drinking whisky — and she was 
very agreeably surprised by his winning, easy manner. Tall, and 
of a powerful frame, with his full-grown beard, which fell upon his 
bosom, a certain pride gleaming from his eyes, not the pride of 
vanity, but one that denoted power and strength of will. Although 
formerly Eline had only now and then heard Vincent drop a word 
about St. Clare, it seemed to her now as though she had known 
him ever so long. His frank smile, his soft but penetrating eyes, 
charmed her and aroused her from her lethargy, and it suddenly 
struck her, when her glance went round the table, what a peaceful, 
calm, healthful truth beamed from him, by the side of which the 
studied politeness of her uncle, the air)’" effervescence of Elise, the 
misty melancholy of Vincent and of herself, seemed but vain, 
hollow hypocrisy and unhealthy sham. After dinner they took 
coffee in the large salon, and Eline felt herself contented in St. 
Clare’s company, and inwardly hoped that none of her other 
acquaintances would come and disturb the harmony. Yet she 
had not much conversation with St. Clare. Elise took him in tow 
altogether, asking him hundreds of questions about New York, 
Philadelphia, and other places. He answered her in French, and 
spoke slowly with a foreign accent, Avhich charmed Eline. Vincent 
took both her hands in his and looked at her attentively. He was 
grateful to her for what she had one day done for him, and some- 
thing like pity filled him now. 


ELINE VERE. 


269 

- ‘‘I am rather disappointed in you, Elly,” said he, as they sat 
down in the balcony. “ You must try and get a little stouter; do 
you hear ? ” 

She laughed a little, and the tip of her little shoe moved about 
nervously among the soft white rugs. 

It is nothing at all,” said she. “ I have not felt at all so unwell 
lately. I have been much worse than this, and I am very glad to 
see you once more, very glad indeed. You know I always rather 
liked you.” 

She gave him her hand and he pressed it, and drew his fauteuil 
a little closer to her. 

“ And what do you think of Lawrence ? ” he asked ; ** do you 
like him ? ” 

■ Yes, I believe he is a very good fellow, is he not ?” 

^'He is the only man whom I have ever known upon whom one 
can depend. There is no one in the world in whom I have any 
confidence — no, no one — not even in you, nor in myself ; but him — 
him I trust. What funny French he speaks, eh ?” 

‘‘ He speaks it very nicely,” answered Eline. 

You have no idea what he would do for any one to whom he 
takes,” Vincent continued. “ If I told you what he has done for 
me, you would not believe me. It is not every one whom I 
should like to tell what he has forced me to accept, and even 
when I tell you about it I certainly feel a bit ashamed. You must 
know that in New York I was very ill indeed, in fact, all but dying. 
At that time I had a situation in a house of business with which 
he is financially connected. Well, he took me into his own house 
and tended me almost with as much care as you did. I really do 
not understand how I have deserved his friendship, and I do not 
know how I can repay. Still, I would do anything for him. If 
now there is a grain of goodness in me at all, it is his influence that 
has produced it. It was he who kept my place open for me while 
I was ill, but a little while ago he decided to do a little travelling. 
He did not know much about Europe, and he declared that my 
situation was really too hard for me. In a word, he invited me to 
accompany him. I refused at first, because already I was under 
such obligations to him, but he forced me, and at last I yielded. 
With the coming winter he intends to go to St. Petersburg and 
Moscow, and next summer he will wander about the south of 
Europe. You know I have always been fond of change, and have 


2/0 


ELINE VERB. 


careered about a good deal myself, so no doubt I shall be of some* 
service to him as a guide,* but I have never travelled in such a' 
style as this before. Wherever we go we have the pick of everything.*' 

He paused, somewhat tired of his long whispering. 

“ Has he so much sympathy for you ?” said Eline softly. ** How’ 
curious ! I do not know him, of course ; but I should say that his 
character is entirely in contrast with yours." 

So it is. You are right. Perhaps it is for that very reason* 
that he likes me ; at all events, he is always declaring that I am; 
much better than others think me, and than I even think myself." 

“ Perhaps he finds you interesting as Elise finds me,” said Eline, 
with an involuntary sly little laugh. But now that she saw St.' 
Clare approaching, she felt some self-reproach, as though she had 
'wronged him. How could she compare the proud, manly truth 
that beamed from him with Elise’s airy coldness ? 

Elise was very busy serving out her liqueurs, and she asked 
Vincent whether he drank Kirsch or Curagoa, or whether he 
perhaps preferred cognac. Vincent sat down by the fire, beside 
her and Uncle Daniel, while St. Clare seated himself by the window 
next to Eline. 

“ And you are the nice little cousin, then, of whom Vincent has 
told me so much? The little cousin who nursed him so well?" 
he asked with a smile, as he placed his hands in his pockets, and 
with his clear, frank eyes looked penetratingly into Eline’s. 

“ Yes, I am the cousin who nursed him,” she answered in French. 
She spoke very good English, but his P^rench pleased her, so that 
she did not ask him whether he preferred speaking English. 

“ That was at the Hague, was it not ? " 

“Yes, at the Hague. He was then staying at my brother-in- 
law’s.” 

“ And you were also staying with your brother-in-law, were you 
not ? ” 

It seemed as if he were trying to pump her a little ; but the 
manner in which he did it had so little of indiscretion about it and 
so much of interest that she did not feel hurt. 

“ Yes,” she answered. “ Did Vincent tell you so ? ” 

‘‘Yes, Vincent often spoke to me about you.” 

His words gave her the impression that he knew a great deal 
about her life. After her flight from Betsy’s house she had written 
Vincent, and no doubt St. Clare knew of it. 


ELINE VERB. 2/1 

“And you have travelled a good deal, have you not?” he 
continued. 

“Yes, with uncle and aunt You also think of travelling, do 
you not ? ” 

“Yes, as far as Russia next winter.” 

Both were silent for a moment. It seemed to Eline as if they 
had much to say to each other, and did not know where to start. 
To her it seemed as if she had long known him, and now it appeared 
too that he knew her. They were no longer strangers to each 
other. 

“ Do you care very much for Vincent ? ” she asked. 

“ I like him very much. I feel much sympathy and pity for him. 
If his health had been more robust he would have made his mark. 
In him there is much energy and elasticity, and his views are very 
broad, but his physical weakness prevents him from giving his 
mind to anyone thing and bringing it to completion. Most people 
misunderstand Vincent. They think him indolent, capricious, 
selfish ; and they will not acknowledge that the explanation of it 
all is to be found in the fact that he is weak and ill. I defy the 
greatest and the best of us to be active and determined to turn his 
gifts and talents to good use if he is half dying with weakness.” 

This was a light in which she had never viewed Vincent. The 
only thing she could say was that she had felt an unaccountable 
sympathy for him. 

“ Yes, I think you are right,” she said, after a short pause. 
“ But do you not think that such a long journey will fatigue him 
too much ? Russia, in the winter ? ” 

“ Oh, no, not at all ; the cold climate is good for his tempera- 
ment, and he need not fatigue himself— there is no work for him to 
do ; as for mere railway travelling, he is used to it. He need only 
wrap himself up in his furs and lie back in his carriage. That 
is all.” 

From his words she suspected, as she had suspected from her 
conversation with Vincent, that St. Clare was in the habit of 
surrounding him with every possible comfort and luxury. 

“ I must say I think you are rather kind-hearted,” she could not 
help remarking. 

He looked at her for a moment in some surprise. 

“What makes you think of that all at once?” he asked 
laughing. 


2/2 


ELINE VERE. 


“ I don’t know,” she answered, and she blushed and laughed a 
little. “ One cannot help getting certain impressions about people. 
Maybe I’m mistaken.” 

He raised his hands with a deprecatory motion. She felt that 
in her last words there was just a shade of coquettishness, and now 
that she had spoken them it irritated her. 

“ You said just now something about energy and activity,” she 
resumed, “ and you believe that when one is ill one ought to be 
excused for showing no such energy and activity ? ” 

** Of course. What do you mean ? ” 

In his manner there was something penetrating, something that 
went ever straight to its object, and it confused her somewhat. 
Had it been Vincent, she would very soon have plunged into some 
more or less misty philosophical discussion, and lost herself in a 
maze of sentences thin and filmy as cloudlets of steam — discussions 
in which neither of them knew what they were really aiming at. 
But St. Clare threw her entirely off her vive with his “ What do 
you mean ? ” 

“ I mean,” she answered with much indecision, “ whether you 
would not even be readier to forgive one who had passed through 
great grief, that lack of energy and activity, than — you would forgive 
Vincent, who has only been ill.” 

He looked at her fixedly for a moment. 

“ Yes, I should, that is, if he had tried to be energetic and had 
failed in the attempt ; not otherwise, not if he had allowed himself, 
without an effort, to be dragged along by the force of circumstances 
with the simple reflection that one cannot fight against destiny. 
Vincent has some of that fatalism, and there is nothing that is so 
unnerving as that. Life would degenerate into a moral lethargy 
if every one did so, and simply sat down with folded hands and 
thought, ‘ I cannot help it, come what may.’ ” 

Her thoughts wandered a little. In fact, she did not know what 
she thought. And she, had she had any energy ? Had she allowed 
herself to be dragged along by the force of circumstances ? She 
did not know. His strength of will, his determination, oppressed 
and cmshed her, and arrested the flow of her thoughts. 

But if that person had gone through much suffering, if he had 
suffered, especially with remorse, at what he once had done?” she 
whispered almost imploringly, with a moist glitter in her eyes, and 
her little foot wandered nervously along the rug, her fingers clutched 


ELINE VERE. 2/3 

at her black locket. His glance softened, filling with tenderness 
and pity. 

“In that case — yes, then I should forgive him all,” he whispered, 
with a merciful assurance. 

But his last words completely unnerved and abashed her. It 
suddenly seemed to her as if she had entirely exposed herself, as 
if she had said things which she should not have said, and yet it 
seemed as if the strength failed her to withdraw herself now that 
she had said so much as that. 

After that day St. Clare and Vincent stayed away for about a 
week, and Eline began to long for their return. When they came 
again it was the day before New Yearns Eve, and Elise invited 
both for the following day, when she was giving a big soirde. 

The following evening, about half-past nine, the guests arrived. 
Uncle Daniel and Elise courteously welcomed their somewhat 
loosely-picked-up acquaintances. The young men of the club, the 
count, the actor, the dueller and his blonde wife, were the first to 
make their appearance ; and after that Eline saw them pass in 
review before their host and hostess, and a strange review it was. 
The gentlemen with something artificial or Bohemian about them, 
the ladies with much too big diamonds, and in faded silken trains. 
She did not feel herself at home at all in this circle, and yet she 
felt amused by these strange folk, who wandered about the crowded 
salons, the light from the candles in the Venetian chandelier 
glinting strangely over all that antique bronze, that antique china, 
that antique furniture. And there was a variety about the guests 
that charmed her. Eline withdrew herself a little when she saw 
St. Clare and Vincent approach. They were in evening dress, and 
it struck her that there was something distinguS about them both. 
But after they had greeted uncle and Elise, they did not seem to 
observe her among the noisy groups by which they were surrounded, 
and Eline felt herself quite forsaken, although a little old lady; 
wrinkled and brown as a nut, with little red plumes in her hair, 
eagerly conversed with her about painters and sculptors. The 
old lady affected to be a great patron of struggling artists. 

“ I suppose it is an artistic soirde this evening } ” she asked with 
blinking eyes. 

“ I believe it is,” answered Eline, with growing irritation. 

“ You sing, do you not ? ” 


2/4 


ELINE VERB. 


‘‘ Oh, no ! I do not sing any more. The doctor has forbidden 
me to sing.’^ 

suppose you intended to go on the stage?” 

‘^Oh, no. Not at all.” 

Some gentlemen came forward and bowed to the old lady, and 
she introduced them to Eline. They were very talented artists. 
Musicians, actors, painters, misunderstood geniuses all of them. 
The little old lady overwhelmed Eline with operas, poems, pano- 
ramas which they had written, created, and painted ; their fame 
would ere long resound throughout the world, for she would 
protect them. 

Eline felt as if all those misunderstood geniuses were hemming 
her in. Things began to shimmer and dance before her eyes, and 
it was a relief when she saw St. Clare coming towards her once 
more. 

“ You are so surrounded,” he laughed softly, “ one can scarcely 
penetrate.” 

Eline puckered up her little mouth contemptuously. 

Let us move aside a little. There is more room there,” she 
lisped. 

She made her escape deftly from the circle of the geniuses, and 
with a sigh sank down on a settee. Nervously her fingers played 
about the dull gold beads that covered her low-necked corsage of 
black satin as with a glistening ray. 

“Oh, those people do bore me,” she said with light disdain. 
“ What sort of time did you spend in Ghent and in Bruges ? Come, 
tell me something about it.” 

He remained standing beside her, and told her a little of his 
trip. Here and there little groups formed themselves. The foot- 
man served wine and refreshments. 

“ But what is to happen this evening, I wonder ? ” asked St. Clare 
with curiosity, as he suddenly broke off his conversation. 

Elise was standing, all amiability, writhing herself into all sorts 
of bows and curtseys before the count, and people looked round at 
them and whispered. The count seemed bashful, and made some 
excuses. 

“ No, don’t disappoint me, pray,” Elise was heard to say in a 
beseeching tone. 

“ I suppose she is asking him to recite something, and he is 
shy,” laughed Eline. 


ELINE VERE. 


275 


Eline was right. Elise cast a glance of triumph in the direction 
of some of the ladies, and the count, with a movement as if he 
could not help it, assumed an attitude and coughed. He would 
recite an epic poem, Pizarro’s account of the conquest of Mexico, 
of Montezuma, and the Aztecs. 

A silence ensued, tempered with a low whispering. The stanzas 
rolled in thundering tones over the heads of the guests with a harsh 
rumbling of r’s. 

Vincent, from another corner of the room, nodded at Eline archly. 
The count began to shout louder and louder. 

“ Magnificent ! don't you think so ? ” asked the little old lady 
with the red plumes, who had once more come back to Eline. 

Eline nodded approvingly, but here and there a cough was heard, 
and despairing faces were to be seen all over the room. The 
whispering, too, grew a little louder. 

“ Patience and resignation," Eline said to St. Clare with a smile. 

He smiled in return, and she no longer found the immense poem 
so unbearably boring now that he stood by her side. When the 
count's last stanza had died away a sort of electric movement began 
to be manifest among the erstwhile motionless groups. They 
laughed and they talked and they pushed one another. Some 
ladies were expressing their thanks to the count with a great show 
of rapture. 

“ Could we not devise some protection against his next attack ? " 
asked St. Clare laughing. 

We shall be freer in the conservatory," said Eline. 

With some trouble they threaded their way to the little conserv- 
atory. There were only two little groups — two old gentlemen seated 
at the table covered with empty wine-glasses, and a little woman 
in active conversation with a young man. There prevailed a soft 
balsamic odour which permeated as with a breath from the tropics 
the palms and the Vanilla plants and the orchids that were crowded 
together in rich profusion. Outside a snowstorm was showering 
around its flakes of downy white. They had scarcely sat down 
before they heard some chords struck on the piano in the adjoining 
room. The actor, a bass, was about to sing a duet with the fair- 
haired jeweller's wife. St. Clare and Eline could see them standing 
by the piano, their figures reflected in the mirrors of the conserv- 
atory, while one of the misunderstood composers was to accompany 
them. 


ELINE VERE. 


276 

“ I had no idea that she sang,” Eline exclaimed in surprise. “ La 
bonne surprise / it^s really getting amusing, but don’t stop talking.” 

A blush rose to her cheek, and something of her former sparkling 
fascination came back to her. Now and then she lifted her cham- 
pagne glass to her lips. In close attention she listened to his 
stories. He spoke so well. Yonder the high shrieks of the soprano 
and the low growling of the bass intermingled with overpowering 
if somewhat ludicrous effect. The conservatory gradually filled 
with little groups who were making their escape from the drawing- 
room. Vincent came to join St. Clare and Eline. 

“Je ne derange pas ? ” asked he. 

‘‘ Par exempie / ” cried Eline. 

It seemed as if the three of them had found themselves at some 
public fete. They scarcely knew one among all those curious people, 
and they amused themselves by laughing a little at them. The two 
old gentlemen’s collection of empty wine-glasses seemed to have 
grown larger and larger, and under the shady leaves of a banana 
the young man could be seen with his arm furtively encircling the 
waist of the little woman. In the other comer, where some glasses 
had just been broken, Vincent recognized some one, who posed as 
a Russian prince, engaged in boisterous chat with two circus-riders, 
and he could not understand how they could have been admitted 
even to Uncle Daniel’s drawing-room. 

“Oh, they must have entered through a back door. I’m sure 
Elise cannot know that they are here,” laughed Eline. 

In the salon the programme was proceeding. They sang, they 
recited, both serious and comic pieces, but the stillness of admiration 
grew less and less. In the conservatory the Russian prince ran 
after the circus-riders, and tried to embrace them ; and the two 
old gentlemen all at once broke out in a terribly angry dispute. 
The young couple had disappeared. 

‘‘ I should advise you to return a little closer to your uncle and 
aunt. The company is certainly getting rather mixed here,” said 
St. Clare to Eline. 

Vincent had left them. Eline rose a little anxiously, and St. 
Clare followed her. But in the salon Elise was surrounded by a 
very noisy group, of which the ladies smoked cigarettes and spilt 
more champagne on their dresses than they drank. St. Clare 
led Eline to the terrace. His eyes sparkled and his lips twitched 


ELINE VERE. 


277 

nervously as his glance fell on the group by which Elise was 
surrounded. 

“ How did you really get here ? ” he suddenly asked Eline in a 
tone of dissatisfaction which he could not hide. “ How is it 
possible that I could have met you here?" 

She looked at him in astonishment. 

“ I ask you how it is possible that I could have found you here ? 
You are certainly not in proper company." 

She began to see his meaning, and started at the boldness of his 
question. 

“Not in proper company," she slowly repeated. “ May I remind 
you that I am at the house of my uncle and aunt ? ” 

I know that. But your uncle and aunt, it seems to me, are in 
the habit of receiving people who are not fit company for you. You 
are here with the consent of your relations, I suppose ? " 

She began to tremble all over, and her eyes were fixed upon 
him with all the haughtiness that she could at that moment 
muster up. 

“May I ask you, Mr. St. Clare, by what right you place me 
under cross-examination ? I thought I was free to do as I pleased, 
and am old enough to choose my friends without anybody’s consent, 
either that of my relations or of yourself.” 

Her tone was sharp and cutting. She was about to turn away. 
He took her hand, she quickly withdrew it. 

“ Do stay a moment, pray. Forgive me if I have hurt you. But 
I take an interest in you, I have heard so much about you from 
Vincent. I knew you, in fact, before I had seen you. I looked 
upon you somewhat — somewhat, if I may say it, as a little sister, 
just as I thought of Vincent as my brother ; and now I find you 
here, mixed with people 

“ Thank you very much for your good intentions,” she resumed 
with icy coldness, “ but in future please to give expression to your 
brotherly interest in a more proper fashion. You knew me before 
you had seen me, it is possible. I have known you now for a 
week, and I cannot understand how you dare to speak to me as 
if you were called upon to be my guardian. I am much obliged 
to you for your solicitude, but I do not need it." 

He made a movement of impatience, and once more prevented 
her from going. She was still trembling with rage, but she stayed. 

“ N ow do not be angry, pray,” he resumed appeasingly. “ Perhaps 


ELINE VERE. 


278 

I did speak rather boldly ; but don’t you think yourself that the 
company here is not suited to you?” 

The acquaintances of my uncle and aunt may be mine as well, 
I should imagine. In any case, it is a matter which does not 
concern you in the least.” 

‘‘Why do you forbid me to take an interest in you?” 

“ Because you take advantage.” 

“ And is there no pardon for that when it is merely caused by a 
feeling of sincere friendship ? ” he asked, and held out his hand. 

“ Oh, certainly,” she answered coldly, apparently without noticing 
his hand. “ But, in future, pray spare me your feelings of friend- 
ship. Too much interest in one is sometimes annoying.” 

Much hurt she turned away. 

He remained alone on the terrace, and he saw her disappear 
among the circus-riders and the Russian prince, the fair-haired 
lady, the two drunken gentlemen, and the poetical count. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

Now that the fete was over, she began to think over it all in the 
solitude of her room. It was five o’clock, and she felt almost too 
tired to undress herself. She did not feel so much hurt because of 
his presumption. But — that evening, for the first time after so long 
a period of lethargy, she had forgotten her sorrows a little. She 
had found a little amusement, and been somewhat of her former self 
again, and he had embittered that innocent pleasure by reminding 
her that she was in a circle to which she was not suited. Did she 
not know that as well as he ? and it was just because she knew it — 
because she felt that he was right — because he felt as she felt herself, 
that she was hurt. Why had he not allowed her to pass a brief 
moment of happiness in peace ? Why had he spoken to her about 
her relations ? What did Henk and Betsy care if she did throw 
herself away among the curious acquaintances of uncle and Elise ? 
But she did not do so, she had scarcely spoken a word to any one 
except Vincent and himself. She had only amused herself at the 


ELINE VERE. 


279 


expense of a circle which surrounded her. She threw herself in her 
black satin dress on a chair, and, as she thought about that which 
had given her offence, she felt it gradually evaporating like a cloud 
of mist. But still she wanted to feel hurt ; yes, she did feel hurt, 
very much hurt indeed. Yet after all it was not so very bad. It 
was for her sake that he had felt so annoyed at the strange coterie 
in which she found herself. He had shown her his annoyance so 
frankly, and she could still hear him say in that discontented 
voice — 

‘‘How did you get here ? Are you here with the consent of your 
relations ? ” 

He took an interest in her, genuine interest, with all the haughty 
pride of his sunny, truthful temperament, and a great desire 
suddenly overmastered her to go to him and ask his pardon, his 
counsel. It would be delicious to conform herself entirely to his 
will ; it would mean peace, much-longed-for peace and calm. 
About twelve o’clock, after a short sleep, she entered the room with 
a pale face and dark blue circles under her eyes, and found Elise, 
with a couple of the servants, busy rearranging the disorder which 
the orgies of the previous evening had brought about. Elise was 
very satisfied with her soirie^ and wished Eline a happy new year. 
Uncle Daniel was out. 

“ What a number of glasses they broke ! If you want to break- 
fast, Eline, you must go to the dining-room. Here you are only in 
my way. Pardon me for saying so. But it was very jolly yesterday, 
was it not ? ” 

Eline went to the dining-room. She ate something and remained 
a little while idling. She waited for some one — Dr St. Clare — but 
neither Vincent nor he came, nor did they come the following 
day, nor the next. If Eline had dared she would have written 
him. 

While she dreamily awaited his arrival she received a letter from 
Madame van Raat, who wrote her, that although he was living at 
Bodegraven just now, she saw Paul occasionally, and that he 
seemed to have some secret grief which she could not guess. She 
was very sorry that a kind of estrangement had come between her 
and her son, and she doubted whether she had always shown him 
sufficient tenderness. 

“ She not enough tenderness ! ” thought Eline, why she was all 
tenderness, at least to me.” 

19 


ELINE VERE. 


280 

When she came to the end of the letter she started violently. 
Jeanne Ferelyn had died in Bangil. Eline’s eyes filled with tears. 

Great heavens ! Great heavens ! ” she repeated slowly, and a 
nervous sob shook her frame. Her poor friend was dead ! Oh ! 
how tenderly Jeanne had nursed her when she was prostrate with 
bronchitis in that little home of theirs ! How gentle and loving 
Jeanne had always been ! How affectionate she was to herself and 
her children. And now she was dead ! What happiness had her 
life brought her? None — none at all ! And Madame van Raat, she 
had her sorrows. Paul had his. What was life but one great 
sorrow ? 

She sobbed violently over the letter, and could not reconcile 
herself to the thought that Jeanne was dead. Jeanne is dead ! 
Jeanne is dead ! It was hissing in her ears and in her brain. She 
had so much to thank Jeanne for, and she would never see her 
again, for Jeanne was dead ! Oh, great heavens, she was dead ! 

She threw herself back in her chair and covered her face with her 
hands. But suddenly she heard steps in the adjoining room. She 
looked up, and ere she could recover herself saw St. Clare appearing 
in the door. Half demented with grief, with her weeping eyes she 
glanced at him. 

I hope you will pardon me if I disturb you.” 

He spoke softly, for he saw that she was crying. “ The servant 
said that you were at home. Perhaps I had better come back 
to-morrow.” 

She rose, wiped her eyes, and gave him a friendly smile. 

“Do you wish to go so soon?” she said sadly. “You do not 
disturb me in the least. On the contrary, I think it very nice 
of you that you have come. Take a seat. Is Vincent all 
right?” 

“ Very well, thank you,” he answered, in a tone from which she 
could gather all the friendship he felt for Vincent. “ We have been 
to Li^ge and Verviers.” 

“Is that the only reason then why I have not seen you before 
now after the sozre'e f ” 

He looked at her for a moment. 

“ Yes,” he answered, “ the only reason.” 

“ You were not angry ?” 

“ No, not at all. I was in the wrong. I should not have spoken 
like that. You were quite right.” 


ELINE VERB. 


281 


“ I am not sure,” she said. “ I know I must have offended you 
with my unmannerliness. Will you forgive me, or do you refuse 
me your hand as I have refused you mine ? ” 

She gave him her hand. He pressed it closely. 

“ I will forgive you gladly,” he answered, “ and I think it very 
nice of you that you confess that you have been a little in the 
wrong.” 

. “ And in future, will you please take that interest in me which 
you said you did when last I saw you. Will you believe me if I 
tell you that your interest in me and your friendship will not annoy 
me as I told you it did then ? May I depend upon that ? ” 

. “ Certainly you may.” 

“ Thank you. Thank you very much. I was not deceived when 
I told you that you had a kind heart. You are more than kind, you 
are noble.” 

He laughed a little. 

“What big words you do use,” he said jestingly. “You’re 
becoming so dignified.” 

“ No,” she said determinedly. “ I’m not dignified, and I use no 
big words. I mean what I say. You do not know what pleasure 
it gives me to see you and to hear from you that you are not angry 
with me, especially at this moment. I was feeling so terribly 
unhappy.” 

“ You were crying, I believe.” 

The tears dropped from her lashes. 

“ I have just now heard of the death of a very dear friend, a poor, 
weak little thing she was, but she was so useful. She will be so 
terribly missed by her husband and children. It is always thus in 
the world, is it not ? People who are of use, they die, and those 
who, like myself, are a trouble to every one and a misery to 
themselves, live on.” 

“ Why do you speak so sadly ? Are you then of use to no one ? 
Do you care for no one, and is there no one who cares for you?” 

She laughed bitterly. 

“ But surely there are people who take an interest in you ? ” he 
continued. 

“ What shall I answer you ? I have no parents. About my 
sister I dare say you have heard something from Vincent. Do you 
know that I — ran away from — my brother-in-law’s house?” 

“Yes.” 


282 


ELINE VERB. 


Ever since that time I have done nothing but wander about. I 
have always been with strange people. Uncle and aunt have taken 
me under their roof, but still they are strange. At the Hague I 
lived with an old lady, the mother of my brother-in-law ; she was 
very kind to me and I liked her very much, but I was not kind 
to her.” 

“ I pity you very much,” said he. “ I wish I could do something 
for you. But suppose you sought some occupation? Is it not 
because you have nothing to do that you feel yourself unhappy ? ” 

I sought an occupation at the Hague. I travelled a good deal, 
and yet I felt myself unhappy. It is all my own fault, you see ; I 
have thrown away my own happiness.” 

She began to cry, her head resting in her hands. 

“ Tell me, cannot I do something for you ?” he insisted. 

“ Nothing at all, thank you. No one can do anything for me.” 

“ But it is really not right to bury oneself in one’s grief, and to 
think of nothing else. You may not do so. You must rouse 
yourself from your sorrows. Every one has his troubles. Come, 
promise me that in future you will think otherwise.” 

“ I cannot,” she sobbed, “ I am so weak. I am broken down, 
broken down utterly.” 

In her words there sounded such a hopelessness that he did not 
know what to say, but he brimmed over with pity — a pity that was 
mingled with despair at the thought that he could do nothing for 
her— and he would solace and comfort her, whatever it might cost. 

“No,” said he with determination, “you are not broken down — 
that is a mere idea ! You are young, and have a life before you. 
Break with your past, forget it completely.” 

“ Oh ! how can I do that ? ” she sobbed. “ How is it possible ?” 

He knew he was wrong himself. He knew that the sorrowful 
memories of the past were all but indelible. 

“ I feel such a pity for you,” he repeated, “a pity such as I have 
never yet felt for any one before.” 

“ That is the only thing left you that you can do for me, pity 
me,” she exclaimed passionately; “pity me, that does me good. 
For have you not told me that you knew me already before you 
saw me, that I was to you like an unknown little sister ? ” 

He had risen from his seat, he laid his hands on her shoulders, 
and looked at her. 

“ Certainly,” he replied cordially. And she could have died for 


ELINE VERE. 


283 

him, so intensely grateful did she feel. ‘‘ And now you are no 
longer unknown to me, and anything I can do for you I will do. 
You must tell me all about yourself, and if you will leave it to me, 
I will make you forget your miseries.” 

He just tapped her on the shoulder like an old friend. In her 
heart there arose a great regret that they had not known each 
other sooner. What a happiness it had been to her but a little 
while ago when she humbled herself before him, when she begged 
him for his pardon. 

A week elapsed, during which the Veres saw neither Vincent nor 
St. Clare, as they were away a few days in Holland. There was a 
talk of a masquerade ball to be given by the count. Uncle Daniel 
would not go in fancy costume, but Eiise would go in Eastern dress ; 
and Eline, whose fancy did not soar very high just now, would 
accompany her, also in Eastern dress. 

A day before the ball the two young men came back. Eline 
thought she could see a frown pass over St. Clare’s features when 
he heard that they were going to that ball. He said nothing, 
however ; but the following evening, about half-past eight, he came 
in with Vincent. They had also been invited. Vincent had 
accepted the invitation. St. Clare had not. He asked to see Eline 
for a moment, but she had just commenced her toilette j but St. 
Clare was importunate, and Eline sent her maid down to ask him 
to wait. 

In the big salon there was no one. Vincent, in evening dress, 
was lying on the couch, and had taken up L Ind^pendance. St. 
Clare stood on the balcony thinking, and he stared at the snow 
which glistened in the evening light. A servant came and asked 
whether they would have tea. 

i ‘‘ I must say I admire your pluck, Lawrence,” said Vincent in 
English, as he slowly stirred his cup of tea. But are you certain 
that all would go well ? ” 

Well, I can’t help myself. I will have it so,” answered St. 
Clare determinedly. 

The servant left and both were silent, when Eline entered. A 
pink glow of veloutine hid the sallow tint of her complexion. Her 
hair was already arranged, and rows and rows of glittering sequins 
hung over her brow. But further than that she had not yet pro- 
ceeded with her costume, and was simply wrapped in a white 


284 


ELINE VERE. 


flannel peignoir. Vincent rose, and she apologized for her toilette. 
But she was very charming. 

‘‘You wanted so urgently to speak to me,” she said softly to St. 
Clare, as she held out her hand to him. “ You won’t mind that 
I’ve come to you like this ; and keep your seat, please.” 

They sat down, while Vincent withdrew with his newspaper into 
the conservatory. St. Clare looked at Eline searchingly. 

“ What is it you want to ask me ? ” she said. 

“ In the first place, I must ask your pardon for my boldness in' 
having called you away from your toilette.” 

“ Oh, that is nothing. I have plenty of time.” 

“ I feel very much flattered that you have come at once. You 
can well imagine that I should not have intruded if it had not been 
for a very good reason. I had a request to make you.” 

“ Which admitted of no delay ? ” 

“Yes, that admitted of no delay, and I run the risk that you will 
be very angry when I make that request, that you will feel hurt, 
and that you will tell me that I am interfering in matters that do 
not concern me.” 

She had a vague suspicion of the question that he was about to 
utter. 

“ Never mind. Speak up frankly,” she simply answered. 

“ You’ve asked me to show as much interest in you as a brother 
would show for a sister. Is that right, or am I mistaken ? ” 

“ No, that is quite right.’' 

“ Well, if you were my sister, I would ask you to do me a great 
favour, and beg of you not to go to that ball this evening.” She 
did not answer, but looked him straight in the face. “If you were 
my sister I should tell you that Vincent and I have made inquiries 
about the people who are coming to the ball this evening ; I should 
tell you that I know for certain that a great number of the invited 
guests are even less suited to your circle than some of your uncle’s 
and aunt’s acquaintances. If you were my sister, I could scarcely 
express myself in plainer terms than I have done, and I have not 
a word to add to what I have said ; but I hope that you will not 
misunderstand me, and that you will now have some idea what 
kind of guests they will be whom you would see there this evening.’' 

She cast down her eyes and remained silent. 

“ And, therefore, at the risk of interfering in a matter that does 
not concern me, at the risk that your uncle and aunt will take 


ELINE VERE. 


285 


offence at my interference in your affairs, at the risk that you your- 
self, after having forgiven me one indiscretion already, will be very 
angry with me, I ask you once more, do not go to this balk You 
are out of place there.” 

Still she remained silent, and her fingers clutched nervously at 
the girdle of her peignoir. 

Are you very angry,” he asked. 

“ No,” she answered after a pause, very softly. “No, I am not 
angry, and I shall do as you ask me. I shall not go.” 

“ Do you really mean it ?” he cried delighted. 

“ I really mean it. I shall not go. I am very thankful to you 
that you have inquired about the people who are coming. I was 
already afraid that you would not approve of my going, but I could 
not bear the thought of staying alone at home a whole evening ; 
that always makes me so melancholy.” 

“ You feared my disapproval ? ” he asked smilingly. 

“ Yes,” she answered. You are such a good friend to me, that 
I should not like to do anything of which you disapprove. And 
for this evening — I shall do exactly as you require.” 

“ Thank you,” he said with emotion, and pressed her hand. 

“ Yes, you may well appreciate it,” she cried with forced airiness, 
feeling somewhat depressed by her humility. “ Do you know that, 
for the last three-quarters of an hour, I have been busy arranging 
the sequins in my hair, and all for nothing ? ” 

“ Certainly, I appreciate what you have done. I assure you I 
appreciate it,” he declared with much earnestness. 

Uncle Daniel entered the room 

Bon soir, St. Clare. You are not coming, are you? But, 
Eline ! Are not you going to dress ? ” 

Eline stammered something and could not find her words, when 
she heard the voice of Elise, who was grumbling to the maid. 
Elise entered, glittering with sequins and Moorish draperies, her 
feet encased in two little slippers. 

Bon soir, St. Clare. What a pity you are not going. It will 
be very nice — del ! Eline ! ” 

Vincent came in from the conservatory. 

“ It is nearly half-past nine, and you have only as yet done your 
hair,” continued Elise in blank astonishment. “ What have you 
been thinking about ? ” 

“ I don’t think that your cousin is going, madam,’^ said St. 


286 


ELINE VERB. 


Clare, as Eline was too confused to speak. “ VVe heard, Vincent 
and I, that the company would be rather mixed at the ball — and I 
advised Miss Vere not to go rather than risk unpleasant encounters. 
I hope you will pardon me for giving that advice. Of course, I 
know she would have been under your protection and that of her 
uncle, but I thought that such circles were even more to be avoided 
by a young girl than by a married lady, even though she be as 
charming as yourself. Was I very wrong ? ” 

Elise hesitated whether she should be angry or not, but in his 
voice there was so much determination and at the same time so 
much that was winning, that she felt herself completely disarmed. 
Daniel Vere just shrugged his shoulders. 

“Whether you were wrong?” Elise repeated, still hesitating. 
“Well, perhaps not. Of course Eline can do as she likes. If she 
would rather not go, eh bien^ soit t then we shall pretend that she 
had a headache. That is easy enough. But you will have a 
terrible ennui^ Eline.” 

“ No, really, I would much rather stay at home,” said Eline ; “ at 
least, that is, if you are not offended.” 

“ Not at all. Libert d ch^rie^ child.” 

The servant came in to say that the carriage was at the door, 
and brought uncle^s and Vincent’s furs. The maid assisted Elise 
to her fur cape. 

“ If your uncle and aunt have no objection, I should like to 
keep you company for a little while ? ” asked St. Clare. 

Uncle and aunt thought it excellent. Eline was still rather 
confused. 

“ Adieu ! Much pleasure,” she said with a little furtive smile to 
Elise, her uncle, and Vincent. 

“Ridiculous,” muttered Uncle Daniel, when they were in the 
carriage. “ Ridiculous I He won’t allow her to go to the ball, but 
he does not mind keeping her company. That is American fashion, 
I suppose. I, at least, would like to know which is more improper ? 
To go with us to the ball, or to spend an evening alone with a 
young man ? Ridiculous ! ” 

Vincent said nothing. He thought it beneath him to defend 
his friend, but Elise quickly urged her husband to be silent. She 
would not permit him to speak ill of a cousin who was under his 
roof, and of a friend whom they saw so frequently. 


ELINE VERE. 28 / 

Spaak ill of him — oh dear, no ! ” resumed Uncle Daniel, still 
feeling hurt. “ ’Tis only American fashion, I suppose.” 

Eline still felt her confusion. 

“ I don’t think uncle thought it right that I followed your advice,” 
she said, when they were alone. Perhaps, too, he thought that — 
you should have gone with them.” 

St Clare looked at her in quiet surprise. 

“ Then why did he not say so ? I asked him, did I not ? But 
would you sooner have me go ? ” 

“No, I should think it very kind of you if you stayed a little 
longer.” 

“ With pleasure ! for there is something else that I would like to 
ask you, but it is not of such importance this time.” 

“ What is it, then ? ” 

“ I should like one of those sequins which you have arranged in 
your hair.” 

Eline smiled, and carefully she took from her hair the row of 
sequins and removed one of the coins, which she offered to him. 

“ Thank you,” he said, and attached the coin to his watch-chain. 

A strange feeling came over Eline. She felt very contented, 
very happy, and yet somewhat abashed, and she asked herself 
which Betsy would have considered less proper ; to go with 
her uncle and aunt to that ball, or to spend the evening alone, and 
en n^glig^i even with St. Clare ? The latter certainly, she thought. 
But he seemed to think it so simple and natural that she did not 
even venture to ask him whether she might go and change her 
dress. 

And now let us have a little quiet chat,” he said, as he sat down 
in a fauteuil, and she remained sitting on the sofa, still a little shy, 
and playing with her row of sequins. “ Tell me something, do — 
of your childhood, or of your travels.” 

She said she did not know what to tell him, but again he asked 
her. She answered him, and slowly her confidence in herself came 
back, and she told him of Aunt Vere, of her Ouida literature, and 
especially of her father and his great canvases which he never com- 
pleted. She told him also of her singing, of Betsy and Henk, and 
added that formerly she thought very differently from what she 
thought now, and that she appeared different too. 

“ What is it you call formerly ?” 


288 


ELINE VERE. 


‘‘ I mean before my illness, and before I went travelling with 
uncle and aunt — before — my engagement.” 

‘‘And how did you look then ? ” 

“ Much healthier and — and fresher.” 

“ Prettier, you would say ? ” 

She could not help laughing that he read her thoughts, and did 
not give himself the least trouble to be gallant. Then she asked 
him whether he would like to see her portraits of those days, and 
while she took an album from the table, she thought she might just 
as well permit him to call her by her name. But she could not get 
so far as that. 

He turned the pages of the album, which contained many of her 
portraits ; delicate little heads, with a ribbon or a string of pearls 
round the neck. In a few of them she was ddcolleide, 

“ Well — what do you think ? ” she asked, as he remained silent. 

“ Very charming little faces, all of them, but everywhere an 
intolerable coquettish little smile. A prettiness much too artificial. 
Were you always in the habit of posing thus, or did you only do so 
before a photographer ? 

She felt a little piqued, 

“ For shame ! How rude you are ! ” she said reproachfully. 

“Was I rude ?” he asked. “ I beg your pardon. Yes, kis true 
these are your portraits; I was a little confused at the moment, for 
you see it is rather difficult to recognize you in them. But, believe 
me — I should have thought you unbearable had I ever seen you 
thus. Pretty, yes — but unbearable. Now you are a little thinner, 
it’s true, you have the traces of suffering, but there is something 
winning in your face; while in these little faces here there is 
nothing but coquettishness, I would rather see you as you are 
now.” 

He closed the album, and laid it down. 

“And yourself,” he resumed, “would you rather be as you were 
then ? Do you regret those days ? ” 

“ Oh, no,^’ she sighed, “ then I was not happy either.” 

“ But now you will do your best to be happy, will you not ? ” 

She gave a little laugh and shrugged her shoulders. 

“ One cannot force one’s happiness,” she murmured dreamily, 
and, involuntarily, she said it in English. 

He looked at her in astonishment. 

“ Do you speak English ?” he asked. 


ELINE VERE. 


289 


“ I ? ” she cried in French, aroused from her dream. 

‘‘Yes, you! 

“ Am I speaking English ? ” 

“ Not now. But just now you were.^’ 

“ Was I speaking English ? I did not know — ” 

“ Why have you never spoken English to me ? ** 

“ I don’t know.” 

“ Oh yes, you do know.” 

“ No, really not.” 

“ I assure you that you do know. Now tell me why, come I ” 
She laughed a little amused laugh. 

“ Because you speak such jolly French. You have such a pretty 
accent.” 

“ Then you have always laughed at me in secret ? ” 

“ No, I assure you, really I have not.” 

“Which will you speak in future, English or French ?” 

“ French, or you will still think that I was laughing at you.” 

“ There is no logic at all in what you say.” 

“ Possibly, but still I will speak French.” 

“ Very well. Do you know, you are no longer so weak as you 
were. You are getting better, stronger.” 

“Why.?” 

“ For the first time since I have known you, I have heard you say 
I will. Now mark my words. You commence by getting a little 
will of your own, and in the end you will be quite firm, and when 
your will is firm and strong you will get strong yourself. Now 
promise me that you will cultivate a little will, like a frail hothouse 
plant that requires much care and attention.” 

Again she laughed, in her gentle, winning way. 

“ You shall see. I shall grow astonishingly obstinate under your 
influence.” 

“No. I hope not. But I should be very happy indeed if you 
would get a little stronger under my influence.” 

“ I shall do my best.” 

“ And I shall keep you to your word. It is nearly eleven,” 

She was silent. The word “ already ” was on her lips, but she 
restrained herself in time. 

“ And tell me frankly, don’t you think now that you will act much 
more sensibly by going to bed early this evening, and trying to get 
a little sleep, than you would have done if you had gone and danced 


290 


ELINE VERE. 


till six o’clock in the morning with very queer partners, and in the 
company of still queerer ladies ? ” 

“You are perfectly right. I am sincerely grateful to you.” 

“ And I, too, am grateful for the coin which you have given me.” 

She felt that it was not only for the coin that he was grateful. 

“ And now good-night. Good-night, Eline.” 

She looked at him, and her eyes softened when she thus heard 
him pronounce her name, without her permission. 

“ Good-night, Lawrence,” she whispered. She held out her hand. 
For a moment he held it in his, his eyes looking into hers. .Then 
he released the little thin fingers. 

“ Adieu,” said he with a last cordial nod, and left 

******* 

For a while she stood still and mused. Then she told the ser- 
vant to extinguish the gas in the salon, and retired to her bed-room. 
The sequins she took from her hair and placed on the toilet-table. 
On a chair lay the glistening draperies of her baU toilet, and 
her little Moorish slippers were on the floor beside it. While she 
undressed, she still heard his voice with its light accent Slowly 
she arranged her ornaments. Her eye fell on her watch, to the 
chain of which a black locket was attached. She opened it and 
gazed into it for a long while, and her eyes grew moist Then 
she pressed a soft kiss on the likeness which it contained. For 
a moment she thought of detaching it from its chain and placing 
it in one of the little drawers of her jewel-case ; but she did not do 
so. She lay down in her bed ; she did not sleep, neither did she 
take her sleeping draught. At half-past five she heard Elise, sighing 
with fatigue, returning with Uncle Daniel. But her sleeplessness 
had not been disturbed by grim nightmares, and it seemed to her 
as though a calm pink glow of light was diffused around her. Later 
on she slept a little, and when she awoke she did not feel herself 
quite so languid as she usually did on awaking. 

Eline did not see Elise the following day before lunch. Uncle 
Daniel had gone out already ; he was always very busy, but nobody 
knew exactly what his occupations were. Eline asked Elise whether 
she had enjoyed herself. 

“ Oh yes,” said Elise in a kindly tone. “ It was rather boisterous, 
and perhaps it’s quite as well that you did not go. It might have 
upset you. Did St. Clare stay long?” 


ELINE VERE. 


291 


‘‘ Till eleven.” 

“ Look here, it does not matter to me that he persuaded you to 
stay at home, but Daniel found it rather foolish of you that you were 
so obedient. Still he does not care either, you know. You are free 
to do exactly as you like with us, you know that.” 

Eline was silent. 

‘‘ But you must admit,” Elise proceeded laughingly, “ it’s a strange 
case. Yes, certainly, Eline, it’s a strange case, and sets one 
thinking.” 

Eline looked at her searchingly. 

What do you think, then ? ” 

“ My dear girl, that I keep to myself, that I won’t tell you. But 
I, who, as you know, never think, I certainly do begin to think a 
little now. But I do not want to intimidate you, you know. I 
think it’s a very good thing, if v/hat I think is true.” 

Eline knew that she was referring to something which in her own 
mind was only just rising in very vague shape. She remained 
silent, and while Elise, who was still rather tired from the ball, 
threw herself on the couch with a book and was soon asleep, she 
sat down by the window and collected her thoughts. In the last 
few days she had thought little, she had merely allowed her- 
self to be dragged along by a sweet tenderness which had over- 
whelmed her ; but now Elise’s veiled words brought her to herself 
again. Yes, the case gave food for thought. St. Clare had dared 
to ask her to stay at home, and she had yielded to his wishes, and 
she thought that it awakened in her mind she did not dare to 
shape. Gladly as she would have yielded herself to that thought, 
she knew that it could never be, never. Oh, why had she not 
met him sooner? Fate was cruel indeed. She began to fear 
that she should have treated him differently, perhaps she ought to 
have repelled him with haughty coldness, with indignation at his 
interference in her affairs, neither should she have asked his pardon 
after she had once been cold to him. But it had been so sweet to 
bend to his will ; he was so strong, and she found so much support 
in his strength. She had never imagined that he could have felt 
any love for her — ailing, weak, broken-down creature that she was ; 
it was not right, he ought not to have begun to care for her, but 
now perhaps it was too late. 

When, a few days later, she saw him again, he found her alone 


292 


ELINE VERE. 


in the large salon. Eline was seated in an arm-chair by the fire, 
whilst a furious wind was driving the snowflakes against the 
window-pane. 

‘‘ I knew I should find you at home. That is why I have come,” 
said he, as he took his seat. “ Have your uncle and aunt gone 
out ? ” 

** Yes ; I don’t know where they have gone. I believe to a 
sale.” 

She had made up her mind to be a little distant in her manner, 
but his company was so welcome to her that she did not succeed. 
She said, “ I am very glad to see you again.” 

He smiled a little, and made a few remarks about the antique 
china which was scattered about the room. Then he continued — 

“ Soon I shall be leaving you for long ; we are going northward 
via Cologne and Berlin.” 

It was as if the breath were choked within her. 

“ When do you go ? ” she asked mechanically. 

“ In a few days.” 

“You are going as far as St. Petersburg, as far as Moscow, are 
you not ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Does Russia attract you ?” 

He answered a little absently, in short, halting sentences. While 
she listened, she felt she could have cried, and his words sounded 
to her as if they were spoken through a mist, and she heard him say, 
as if he were interrupting himself — 

“ But I wanted to ask you something. I wanted to ask you if, 
during the time that I am away, you will now and then think 
of me.” 

“ Certainly I will think of you,” she said with trembling Ups ; 
“ you have been so good and so kind to me, and — I shall always 
hold you in pleasant memory.” 

“ Thank you,” he softly said. “ Don’t you think it sad when 
people have learned to know each other, and feel sympathy for one 
another, that they have to part ? ” 

“Yes. But there is so much that is sad in the world.” 

“You will say, perhaps,” he continued, following his own train of 
thought, “that I can stay in Brussels as long as I like because I 
travel for my pleasure. Perhaps, even, I should prefer to remain 
in Brussels.” 


ELINE VERE. 


293 

She began to tremble all over, but she made an effort and 
restrained herself. 

** Why should you not go further ? ” she murmured. “ Why should 
you not see what you can of the world ? ” 

“ Because Em fond of you,” he answered calmly. And his pene- 
trating eyes looked at her fixedly. “ And because I cannot bear to 
leave you. I should gladly stay with you, stay with you always to 
protect you — I shudder at having to leave you. I have a feeling 
when I think of my departure as if some misfortune would happen 
to you.” 

She wanted to reply something, but she could not, for she nearly 
choked in repressing the tears that came to her eyes. 

‘‘But that is impossible,” she said painfully, almost despairingly. 

“And why is it impossible ?” he asked. “ Why is it impossible 
that I should always stay with you, or rather that you should always 
stay with me ? Tell me, Eline.” 

“ Because it cannot be,” she answered briefly. 

“ Ch yes, it can ; if you cared for me you would not say so. I 
should take you with me. I should care for you. You should be 
my wife.” 

“ And I — I should make you unhappy.” 

“ No, no ; I should do my very best to make you happy, and Em 
certain that I should succeed. Listen to me. Even before I had 
seen you, Vincent’s words made me feel an interest in you. The 
first time that I met you I pitied you, for I saw in your whole being 
that you had had a great grief, that you were still in grief, and that 
you were unhappy. I began to think what I could do to make you 
happy, but I found nothing, only while I was speaking to you, and 
while my mind was full of thoughts, it seemed to me that there was 
a little more animation coming into your face, and more content- 
ment into your words. Perhaps it was only my fancy, but it seemed 
so to me. I imagined, too — perhaps it was my vanity — that I 
' myself somewhat influenced that change. I took notice of you, 
though you spoke to other people, but at such times you were 
quiet, cool, and reserved. But with me you were very different ; 
you even grew confidential. Then it was that a great desire came 
over me to be all in all to you, for I thought perhaps then you 
would be happy, and would no longer take such a sombre view of 
life. Elly, dear, you are still so young, and you imagine that all is 
over with you. Do not think so any longer, but trust yourself to 


294 


ELINE VERE. 


me, and let us find out together whether life is really such a 
melancholy affair as you imagined. Tell me, Elly, will you do 
so ? Will you see with me whether an entirely new life may not be 
yours ? ” 

She sobbed softly, lifted up her weeping eyes, and folded her 
hands almost in supplication. 

“ Oh, why do you ask me that ? ” she cried, “ Why must you ask 
me that ? Why must I cause you grief.? Have I not given pain to 
enough people already ? And now must I be a misery to you as 
well ? But it cannot be — it cannot be, never ! ” 

“ Why not ? ” 

“Why not?” she repeated meditatively. “ Because although I 
.am still young, I am thoroughly broken. Can you not see that? 
Because everything in me is shattered — because I am an utter 
wreck.” 

“ Eline, use no such big words ; speak calmly.” 

“ I use no big words. I do speak calmly. I speak with deliber- 
ation, with the deliberation of despair,” she cried rising, and she 
remained standing before him as he took her hand. “ I speak with 
so much deliberation that it makes me shudder. Listen, Lawrence, 
you know that I have been engaged.” 

“ Yes. And that you have given him back his word.” 

“Yes. I have given him back his word, and yet I liked him. 
Even while I wrote to him releasing him from his engagement, I 
liked him. Is that not terrible ?” 

He did not answer, and looked at her as if he did not understand. 

“That you cannot understand, can you?” she asked, and her 
hands trembled in his. “ You cannot understand that such terrible 
doubts can fill a woman’s heart ? You cannot understand that at 
times I don’t know what I feel, nor what I think, nor what I would 
do. Do you see, there is something in me, something that is in- 
complete. I am always in doubt. I am always searching for some- 
thing, and never feel certain of anything. I liked him. Forgive 
me for telling you now. I liked him so very much, he was so good, 
and he would have sacrificed his life for me. And there came a 
moment when I knew no longer whether I liked him or not, when 
I even thought I cared for some one else, whilst all the time I cared 
for none but him. And now I know it — now that it is too late, and 
now that I have perhaps made him unhappy.” 

“ Do you know that you have made him unhappy, Eline ? ” 


ELINE VERE. 


295 


“No. I do not know, but I suspect it. At the Hague I did 
hear something about his having got the better of his grief, but I 
could never believe it. Now that it is too late I know all, and it is 
only now that I know how fond he was of me. Even if I were to 
hear that he were married, I could not believe that he had quite 
forgotten me. It cannot be ! He must think of me as I often 
think of him.” 

“ Do you still care for him ? ” he asked in a dull voice. 

“ Not as I have cared for him, not now, Lawrence. I believe 
just now it is only pity I feel for him, but I often think of him. 
Plere is his portrait.” 

She opened the locket, and showed him Otto^s likeness. With- 
out saying a word he gazed at it. 

“ Do you always carry this about with you ?” he softly asked. 

“Yes,” she whispered, almost inaudibly, “always. To me this is 
sacred, and therefore, Lawrence, therefore it can never be. The 
thought of him would always rise up between us. With you I 
could be happy if that memory did not always haunt me. But for 
me to be happy whilst I continually remembered that his life was 
so wretched — oh ! it would be impossible.” 

He did not answer, and she began to sob violently. She sank 
down on the ground, and laid her head on his knee. 

“ Oh, forgive me, Lawrence, forgive me. I never thought that 
you could care for me. I was so ill, I was always coughing, I felt 
myself so weak. I thought that I had grown out of it, that I should 
even have repelled a man. Had I not thought thus I should never 
have allowed you to see that I cared for you. At first you spoke as 
if we were brother and sister. Why did you not continue to speak 
thus ? As it is, now I have been compelled to cause you pain ; I 
could not help it. I should have been wicked if I could have 
become your wife without a feeling of remorse.” 

He lifted her up gently, and drew her towards him a 
little. 

“ Eline,” said he, “ one day you told me that you had thrown 
away your happiness. Then I did not ask you what you meant by 
it, but now I ask you, do you mean by that the letter which you 
sent to Otto ? ” 

“ Yes,” she sobbed. 

“ With that letter you threw your happiness away, you say ? Are 
you certain now that you are not throwing away your happiness for 


20 


ELINE VERE. 


296 

the second time, or can I never make you happy? It is Otto alone 
who can do that ? 

Shedooked at him with a melting expression in her eyes. 

< Oh, Lawrence,” she murmured passionately, her head nearly on 
his bosom, “if I had but met you before — before all that had 
happened, I could not have cared for any one but you. But it 
could not be. It was my fate.” 

“ Oh, do not speak about fate. Fate is but a phrase. Every one 
makes his own fate. You — you are too weak to make one for 
yourself. Let me make your fate for you.” 

“It cannot be,” she sobbed, and shook her head, which was 
nestled against him, hither and thither. “ It can never be.” 

“ Yes, Eline, it can be,” he answered. “ You say you could not 
have cared for any one but me had you seen me sooner. Perhaps 
in that case I might not have cared for you ; however, these are 
suppositions which do not concern you in the least. All I know 
now is, that I like you as you are. You say that you are ill, but I 
know that you will be well again, I feel it.” 

“ That is no certainty,” she wept. 

“ That is true, but no more is it a certainty that you have made 
Otto unhappy. You feel that too, do you not? You are not 
certain of it.” 

“ No, no, I believe I am certain.” 

“ No, you are not,” he continued ; “and you tell me, now that I 
ask you to be my wife, that it cannot be, that it can never be. Is 
that not cruel of you ?” 

“ Oh, why do you reproach me with that ? ” she sobbed. 

“Just now you said yourself that you were always in doubt — that 
you were always searching for something, but that you never knew 
anything for certain. How is it then that now you say you know 
without doubt that it never could be? Are you so certain of 
that? Will you feel no regret when I am gone — when it is too 
late ? ” 

“ Oh,” she groaned, “ how can you make me suffer thus ? You 
torture me.” 

He was silent for a moment, and gently raised her head from his 
bosom. 

“ I shall torture you no longer, Eline. Only this I want to say 
to you. " Don^t refuse now what I have asked you. A day may 
come when you may wish that you had spoken differently. Let 


ELINE VERE. 


297 


me hope as much as that, at least. The day after to-morrow I 
am leaving here with Vincent. In five months’ time I shall see 
you once again. I shall ask Vincent to write you now and then. 
You shall always know where we are, and you need but say one 
word, and I shall return at once. I don’t ask you now to promise 
me anything, but pray refuse me nothing either Allow me to hope, 
and endeavour to hope. yourself. Will you do this, or is it too much 
that I am asking you ? ” 

“No,” she whispered. “ Oh, no, it is not too much. I will give 
you my answer in five months’ time.” 

“ Very well,” said he. “ I shall ask you nothing more, and now 
I shall wait until your uncle and aunt are home to take leave of 
them. Vincent will come to-morrow. But now that we are alone, 
may I take my leave of you ? ” 

She did not answer, but looked at him. He pressed her in his 
arms and kissed her. 

“ In five months’ time then ?” he whispered with a smile. 

She raised herself up, looked at him fixedly, and then flung her 
arms round his neck. And she kissed his forehead with a long 
passionate kiss. 

“ In — in five months,” she murmured in reply. 


CHAPTER XXX. 

Uncle Daniel and Aunt Elise were not a bit surprised when 
Eline, a few days after St. Clare’s and Vincent’s departure, told 
them that she intended to return to the Hague. They knew how 
capricious Eline was, how she longed, now for this and now for 
that, and never was contented. But this time it was not out of 
caprice that Eline longed for another dwelling-place. After the 
soirie^ at which St. Clare had asked her somewhat brusquely 
hoAv she got there, it seemed to - her as if a veil had risen before 
her eyes, as if suddenly it was made plain to her that she was 


ELINE VERB. 


298 

not in her place with her uncle and aunt, and especially in their 
coterie, and it was out of respect, out of friendship, perhaps out 
of love for St. Clare, that she determined to leave her Brussels 
acquaintances. 

She wrote to Henk and asked him to take two rooms for her 
in a ladies’ boarding-house or in one of the new stately hotels. 
In reply she received letters from Henk, from Betsy, from old 
Madame van Raat, all of whom begged her not to go into apart- 
ments, but to make her home Avith them. Betsy wrote her that 
she forgave and forgot everything that had happened, if Eline 
on her part would also forgive and forget, and implored Eline not 
to be so eccentric as to go and live by herself when there was 
room for her in her sister’s house. Old Madame van Raat, too, 
wrote very urgently and very affectionately, but Eline refused with 
repeated professions of gratitude ; she was determined that no one 
should make her change her mind. , 

Henk, therefore, with a dejected face, shrugged his shoulders, and 
with Betsy he chose two handsome apartments in a large pension 
on the Bezuidenhout. Thereupon Eline came to the Hague. 

She recollected how the previous summer, worn-out with her 
wandering, she had come to the Hague to make her stay with 
Madame van Raat. She compared her languor of those days with 
the exhaustion which now, as it were, was surely undermining her, 
and she did not even feel strength to weep about it. For the sake 
of her regard for St. Clare, she had concentrated the last lingering 
remnants of strength to be once more as she had been — winning, 
amiable, if not brilliant ; and now that St. Clare was gone, she 
discovered how, frank and natural as she had been towards him, 
she had for all that involuntarily, as it were, excited herself so that 
she should not appear to him altogether the utterly worn-out being, 
the living corpse that she was. Now that that excitement was no 
longer necessary, she collapsed, broken down utterly. The emotion 
caused by her latest confession, too, had greatly unnerved her, 
and it became to her a certainty that she would never more be 
able to arouse herself from her physical exhaustion and her moral 
inanition. 

Her cough was very violent, and Reyer attended her again, but 
she never told him about her Brussels doctor, who had prescribed 
her the morphine-drops, as she remembered that Reyer would 
never allow her to take an opiate. It was February, the cold was 


ELINE VERE. 


299 


intense, and she did not leave the house. When in the morning 
she rose, she felt as formerly she had felt at Madame van Raat’s, 
too fatigued and languid to dress herself. She wrapped herself in 
her peignoir and sank down on a couch. Then a delicious feeling 
would come over her that she need not trouble herself about any 
one, that there was no need for her to dress herself, and that she 
could remain as she was in her slippers as long as she liked. Often 
Madame van Raat or Betsy, Madame Verstraeten or Marie and 
Lili, found her thus undressed, dishevelled, vacantly staring out of 
the window. She did not read, she did not do anything, and hour 
after hour passed by during which she did not even think. At 
times she would suddenly throw herself on the floor, her face 
pressed down on the carpet, and then it grew dark, oh, so dark 
around her, until a knock at the door — the servant who brought 
her dinner — made her start up with a sudden fright. Then she 
would sit down and eat a very little, and then a wan little smile 
would hover around her lips, in which at once something satirical 
and something idiotic were intermingled. 

The nights that followed on those days were for Eline veritable 
hours of terror. Everything within her began to live, and she felt 
as if electrified by the horror, so that she could not sleep. Her brain 
was in a mad whirl. Shrill, mysterious sounds rushed through her 
ears. A very maelstrom of memories whirled round and round in 
her mind. Visions of all shapes and forms rose up around her. 
She started in terror at everything — at a shadow falling along the 
wall, at a pin glistening on the floor ; then she took her drops, and 
a dull sleep at last fell upon her like a leaden mantle. 

For minutes at a time she would stand staring in the glass at her 
faded features. The tears would then start to her eyes, whose 
brightness was for ever extinguished, and she thought of former 
days, she longed for that past again without really asking herself 
what that past had been. For latterly she was no longer capable 
of continuous thought. It was as if before her thoughts a barrier 
had been placed, which she could not cross. But it was that very 
dullness which now overtook her that in some measure lessened 
her melancholy, which, had her brain been of its normal clearness, 
would certainly have risen to an unbearable crisis. But instead of 
that melancholy she now struggled through hours of doubt, in which 
she was at a loss what to do with her useless self, her useless 
existence, which dragged itself along within these four walls, with 


300 


ELINE VERE. 


only her violent fits of coughing to break the weary monotony. 
Then she fell to weeping bitterly about her unfulfilled desires, and 
she writhed on the ground, stretching forth her arms towards an 
image which vaguely shaped itself to her eyes ; for in her dreams, 
as well as in her waking thoughts, the forms of Otto and St. Clare 
began to be confused in her mind. The observations and sayings, 
the ideas of the one she ascribed to the other, and she could no 
longer say which of them she had ever loved in truth, or which 
of them she still loved. When, in such doubts, she attempted to 
continue her train of thought, that impassable barrier stopped her, 
and her impot^ncy enraged her ; with her clenched fist she beat 
herself on the forehead, as if therein there was something broken 
that she ivoidd repair. 

“What can it be?” she would then ask herself in despair. 
“ Why is it that I forget so many things that have happened, and 
of which I can only remember that they have happened ? All that 
dullness here in my head ! Rather the most horrible pain than 
that dullness ! It is as if I am going mad ! ” 

A shudder crept over her back like a cold snake at that thought. 
Suppose she were to go mad, what then would they do with 
her? But she would not follow up such terrible suppositions, 
although it seemed to her that if she could only think through 
that spectre of rising insanity, she would suddenly pass over the 
barrier that had been placed before her thoughts ! But when once 
she should have passed into it, then — then, indeed, she woidd be 
insane. 

At such moments she covered her face with her hands and 
pressed her fingers in her ears, as though she would not hear, would 
not see ; as if the first impression she would now receive would 
drive her mad. And at that idea she was so terrified that she said 
not a word about that dullness to Reyer. 

Her uninterrupted, listless idleness made her yield herself up 
entirely like a slave to the strange fantasies and ideas which 
frequently rose to the most senseless ecstasies, from which she 
suddenly awoke in dread terror ; reclining on her couch, her fingers 
nervously plucking at the tassels of the cushions, playing with the 
loose hair that hung dishevelled about her head, her thoughts went 
back to her theatrical illusions in the days when she had sung 
duets with Paul, and when she thought she loved Fabrice. Then 
she became an actress ; she saw the stage, the public, she smiled 


ELINE VERE. 


301 


and bowed, flowers rained down upon her. Quite unconscious of 
herself, she would rise from her couch, and with her broken 
voice softly hum a recitative, a phrase from some Italian aria ; and 
she moved about her room as if she were playing a part — she 
acted, she stretched forth her arms in movements of despair, or 
lifted them up with longing towards the fleeing lover; she sank 
down on her knees, and imagined that she was dragged forward, 
although she prayed and implored for mercy. Various roles 
rose confused in her brain: Marguerite, Juliette, Lucia, Isabelle, 
Mireille — of all these in the space of a few minutes she would go 
through the most tragic scenes, and suddenly, roughly awakened 
from that madness, she would see herself once more alone in her 
room, and making the strangest motions. Then she drew back in 
terror for herself, and tremblingly she thought — 

“ Heavens above ! is it coming over me ?” 

After such moments she would remain lying down staring about 
her with frightened eyes, as if she expected that some crushing 
catastrophe would occur, as if the features of the statuettes, the 
figures in the pictures and plates around her, would suddenly come 
to life and laugh at her — a hard, grinning laugh, cruel as that of 
demons. 

After such a day she did her best in her silent terror to become 
herself once more. In the morning, after awakening from her 
leaden, artificial sleep, she wouH quickly get up, dress herself with 
much care, and go out shopping ; then go and take coffee with 
Henk and Betsy, with the Verstraetens, or with Madame van Raat. 
She complained about her loneliness, and as, in such moments, she 
showed herself rather amiable, they asked her here and there out 
of pity to stay to dinner. Then the evening would pass cheerily 
enough, and she returned home, glad that another day was gone, 
but fainting almost with fatigue at her unusual emotions by her 
artificially excited gaiety, unnatural and full of shrill laughter, 
mingled with coughs. And such a day she had to pay for dearly 
at night ; the drops gave her no relief, she remained all through 
hopelessly wide awake, struggling with horrible nightmares, haunted 
by spectres of her diseased brain. 

Her acquaintances spoke a good deal about Eline, and Betsy 
frequently remarked with a serious face that she feared it was far 
from right with her ; Eline was so strange just now, and Reyer was 
not satisfied either, and her acquaintances pitied her. Poor Eline ! 


302 


ELINE VERE. 


formerly she was so pretty, so elegant, so cheerful — and now she 
was like a shadow of her former self. Yes, indeed, she was very 
ill. That one could easily see. 

It was raining — a cold, searching March rain — and Betsy was at 
home, sitting in the little violet boudoir which opened on the con- 
servatory. It was somewhat dark, but Betsy had moved her 
fauteuil in the light, and was reading Les Pecheurs dPslande by 
Pierre Loti. But the book bored her; how could fishermen be 
so very sentimental.? Now and then her glance fell along the 
palms of the conservatory and on the barren garden, where the 
bare branches were dripping with wet. Ben sat on the floor by her 
fauteuil. All at once he gave a sigh. 

“What is it, Ben? Is anything the matter?” asked Betsy. 

“No, ma,” he answered, looking up in surprise with his laboured 
little voice. 

“ Why do you sigh then, child ? ” 

“ I don’t know, ma.” 

She looked at him searchingly for a moment, then she laid down 
her book. 

“Just come here, Ben.” 

“ Where, ma dear ? ” 

“ Here, on my lap.” 

He clambered slowly on to her lap and smiled. Lately her 
brusque voice often had something soft in it when she addressed 
her only child. 

“ Are you fond of your ma ? ” she asked caressingly. 

“Yes.” 

“ Kiss me, then.” 

He flung his little arms round her neck. 

“ Come, give me a kiss ! ” 

Still with the same listless little smile he kissed her. 

“ Ma is never naughty to you, is she ?” asked Betsy. 

“ No.” 

“ Will you stop with ma like that ?” 

“Yes.” 

He nestled himself, the big boy of seven, against her bosom. 

“ Tell me, Ben, is there nothing you would like ? Would you not 
like something nice of ma?” 

“ No.” - 


ELINE VERE, 303 

“ For instance, a little horse and carriage — a real horse, a pony? 
Then Herman can teach you to drive.” 

Oh, no, thank you,” he said, in a tone as if she bored him a 
little. 

She grew almost impatient, and was on the point of giving him 
a scolding, and telling him that he was a wretch of a boy, but that 
impatience lasted only for a second. She clasped him closer to 
her and kissed him. 

“ But if there is anything you would like, you must tell me,” she 
said, almost weeping. “ Will you tell me, Ben ? Say, child, will 
you really tell ma ? ” 

“Yes,” he answered, in a tone of great satisfaction. 

And she closed her eyes, shuddering at the thought that her 
child was an idiot. It was like a curse that had come to her. 
But why, how had she then deserved it ? What had she done ? 

She did not read further, and she kept him on her lap, where 
he lay quietly, with his head resting on her shoulder, when she 
heard some one approaching through the salon. It was Eline. 

“ Good morning, Eline.” 

“ Good morning, Betsy. Good morning, Ben.” 

“ Fancy you going out in this rain ! ” 

“I had a cab. I could not stay at home any longer. The 
weather made me so melancholy, and I thought I was going mad 
with ennui. Oh, great heavens ! ” 

She let herself go, as with a cry of despair she fell down on a 
seat, and removed her little veil. 

“Just imagine always being pent up within the four walls of 
your room, no one to see you, nothing in which you take any 
interest. Is that not enough to drive you mad ? At all events, I 
cannot bear it any longer, I shall certainly go crazy.” 

“ Eline, prends garde ^ Venfa 7 tt Pdeoute^ 

“He — he does not understand that, and probably will never 
understand it,” she continued in a hoarse voice. “ Ben, come here ; 
come here for a moment. Do you know what you must do when 
you are big? Never think of anything, little man, whatever you 
do. Don’t think at all. Eat, drink, and enjoy yourself as long as 
you can, and then — then— you must marry! But you must not 
think, do you hear?” 

“ Eline, vraii 7 tent tu es folle” cried Betsy hastily, fearing more 
for her child than for her sister. 


304 


ELINE ,VERE. 


Eline laughed loudly, and her laugh and the shrill words of her 
excited voice frightened Ben. With his big eyes and his mouth 
wide open he stared at her. But still she laughed. 

“ Oh, he does not understand anything of it, the little man. Eh, 
you don't know what it is that aunt is raving about, do you ? But 
it is delicious to rave like that. I wish I could do something very 
desperate, some awfully mad trick, something utterly ridiculous, 
but I cannot think of anything. My mind is so dulled just now 
that I cannot think. If only Elise were here she would know 
something. Do you know what we did one day, Elise and I, the 
first time I stayed in Brussels ? I never had the courage to tell 
any one of it before, but now I dare say anything. Nothing 
troubles me now. Just fancy, one evening we went out together 
for a walk, all alone, you know, just for a little adventure. Don't 
you say a word of it to any one, do you hear ? Then we met two 
gentlemen, two very nice gentlemen, whom we did not know at all. 
With them we went for a drive — in an open landau, and then — then 
we went with them into a cafd." 

Her story was continually interrupted by little nervous shrill 
laughs, and with the last words she burst out into an uncontrollable 
fit of hysterical laughter. Not a word was true of the whole story, 
but at that moment she believed in it herself. 

‘'Just fancy, in a caf6 — in a cafe ! And then " 

" Eline, do pray stop that mad talk," said Betsy softly. 

"Ah ! I suppose you think it awfully shocking, eh? But rest 
assured, it was not quite so bad as all that." 

She still laughed, half weeping, and at last she burst out in 
hysterical sobs. 

" Oh, that wretched Reyer ! I have always such a terrible pain 
here in my head, and he does not care. He is always boring me 
about my cough. I know I cough — that is no news ; and oh, great 
heavens ! it is so horribly dull in that Pension." 

" Why don't you come and stay with us then ? " 

“ Oh, that would never do. In three days' time we should be 
pulling ourselves by the hair," laughed Eline boisterously. " Now 
that we see each other but rarely it is much better." 

“ Really, I should do my very best to make you comfortable," 
implored Betsy, who felt terribly alarmed at Eline's excited state. 
“ We should have the greatest care for you, and I should study you 
in everything." 


ELINE VERE* 


30s 


“ But I should not study you. No, thank you very much. I 
value my liberty before everything. How can you be so provoking ? 
We should begin haggling at once. Why, we are haggling now 
already.” 

Why do you say that ? I am not haggling at all There is 
nothing I should like better than for you to come here this evening, 
if you like.” 

“ Betsy, now just leave off about it, or you will never see me 
again. I won^t live with you any more. I won'tj so there ! Tve 
had enough of it.” 

And she hummed a tune. 

“ Will you stay to dinner then this afternoon ? asked Betsy. 

“ Rather 1 But Fm tired. You won’t find me very lively. What 
are you going to do this evening ?” ' ’ 

“ We are going to the Oudendykens’. Are you not invited ?” 

“No. I never visit them.” 

“ Why not ? ” 

“ For my part they can frizzle themselves, the Oudendykens. 
Ch, my head — may I lie down on a couch ?” 

“ Certainly.” 

“Then I shall go to Henk’s room. There is such a cosy sofa 
there.” • ' 

“ There is no fire there.” 

“ Oh, that does not matter.” 

She went up-stairs to Henk’s sitting-room. She lay down on 
the sofa, and ere long, exhausted as she was with her excitement, 
sleep overtook her. She was aroused from her slumbers by a 
heavy step on the landing. Before she was well awake, Henk 
entered. 

“ Hullo, sissy, what have you been doing here in the dark ? and 
how cold it is in here ! ” 

“ Cold ! ” she repeated, with a look as that of a somnambulist. 
“ Yes, now I feel it too. Fm shivering— but I have been asleep.” 

“ Come along down-stairs. Dinner will soon be ready. Betsy 
said you were going to stay ; aren’t you ? ” 

“ Yes. Ch, Henk, how terrible that I have been asleep here ! ” 

“ Terrible ! Why ? ” 

“ Now I won’t sleep to-night,” she screamed in despair, and she 
threw her head on his shoulder and sobbed. 


• ELINE VERE. 


306 

Why don’t you rather come and stay with us again ? ” he asked 
softly. You would be so comfortable with us.” 

“ N o, not that.” 

‘‘Why not?” 

It would never do. I am certain of it. It is very kind of you, 
Henk, to ask me, but it would not do. Sometimes I feel as if I 
could strike Betsy, and I feel that just at the moment when she 
speaks nicely to me, as she did this afternoon, for instance. I had 
to restrain myself with all my might from striking her.” 

He sighed, with a despairing face. To him she remained a 
puzzle. 

“ Then let us go down-stairs,” said he. 

And as they were going down she leant heavily on his arm, 
trembling with the cold, which only now she began to feel 

The winter went by, and Eline remained in the same con- 
dition. 

‘‘ Would it not do you good to go into the country in the summer ? ” 
asked Reyer. “ I don’t mean that you should travel from one 
place to the other, that would fatigue you too much. But you 
might make a little stay in some quiet, cool spot amidst some 
cheerful surroundings.” 

Her thoughts went back to the Horze. Oh, if she had been 
Otto’s wife, then grateful coolness, shade, affection would have 
been hers. 

“ I don’t know of such a place,” she answered languidly. 

“ Perhaps I might know of something for you. I know some 
very nice kind people in Gelderland. They have a little country 
seat surrounded by magnificent pine forests.” 

“In Heaven’s name,” screamed Eline passionately, “no pine 
forests ! ” 

“ But country life would strengthen you.” 

“ It is impossible to strengthen me. Pray, Mr. Reyer, let me lie 
where I am.” 

“Do you sleep better now ?” 

“Oh yes, fairly well.” 

It was not true. She never slept at night, and by day she 
slumbered just a little, she dozed just a little. The drops had no 
more effect, and only brought her into a continual whirling ecstasy, 
a condition full of listlessness and terror, in which she either 


ELINE VERB. 307 

raved like an actress, or dragged herself groaning along the 
floor. Reyer looked at her penetratingly. 

‘‘ Miss Vere, pray tell me the truth. Are you in the habit of 
taking other medicines than those which I prescribe ? ’’ 

“What makes you think that 

“ Answer me the truth, Miss Vere.” 

“Of course not. Hoav can you think such a thing } I should 
not have the courage to do so. No, no, you may rest quite assured 
about that.” 

Reyer left, and in his carriage he forgot his note-book for a 
moment, and was deep in thought about Miss Vere. Then he 
heaved a hopeless sigh. Scarcely had he left the room when Eline 
rose. She was dressed only in a loose gray pegnoir, which hung 
about her emaciated figure. In front of the glass, she plunged her 
hands in her loose hair. It had grown very thin, and she laughed 
about it while the stray locks fell about her fingers. Then she flung 
herself on the floor. 

‘‘ I won’t,” she stammered, “ I will not see him any more, that 
Reyer. He makes me worse than I am. I cannot bear him any 
longer. I shall write him to stay away.” 

But she did not feel sufficient energy to do so, and she remained 
lying on the floor, and her fingers traced the figures of the 
carpet. Softly she began to hum to herself. Through the door 
the sun cast a square golden glimmer on the floor, and thousands 
of little dust particles danced about in the golden light. The 
glitter irritated Eline, and she drew herself back. 

“ Oh, that sun ! ” she whispered, with strange, big, dull eyes. “ I 
hate that sun. ’Tis rain and wind that I want — cold rain and cold 
^yind — the rain that oozes through on my chest, through my black 
tulle dress.” 

Suddenly she rose, and wrung her hands on her chest as though 
she would prevent the wind from blowing open the cloak from her 
shoulders. 

“Jeanne ! Jeanne ! ” she commenced in her delirium ; “ pray, pray 
take me in. I have run away from Betsy, for she is unbearable. 
This evening, at the dinner at Hovel’s, she said all kinds of nasty 
things about Vincent, and you know that I love Vincent ; for his 
sake I have broken my engagement, my engagement with Otto. 
Oh how he bored me with his eternal calmness, always calm — 
always calm ! I— I shall go mad under all that calmness ; but 


ELINE VERE. 


308 

really, Henk, I shall go to Lawrence and ask his pardon. But 
don’t strike me, Henk ! Oh, Lawrence, Lawrence, I love you so ! 
Do not be angry with me, Lawrence ; see if I do not love you ! 
Here is your portrait which I always wear on my bosom.” 

She had knelt down by the sofa, and lifted up her face as if she 
saw somebody. All at once she started in terror, and hastily, and 
with a shudder, she raised herself. 

“Great heavens! there it is coming again,” she thought, be- 
coming once more conscious of herself. 

There seemed to be a struggle going on in her brain, a struggle 
between her impotent senses and her ever-increasing madness. 
With an uncertain movement she took up a book which was lying 
on the table, and opened it, to force herself to be sensible and to 
read. It was the score of Le Tribut de Zamora^ which she had 
once procured during her passion for Fabrice. She dared not 
look up, fearing lest she might see her insanity take some hideous 
shape before her eyes. She dared not move, out of terror for 
herself, and she would 'gladly have saved her fleeing senses had 
she been able, as it were, to pass away out of her own self. And 
the ray of sunshine once more filled the room, glowing over the 
satin of the curtains and reflecting itself back in the china of 
the Japanese vases and the polished glittering brass of the 
ornaments. Softly she began to sing something to herself, quite 
unconsciously, in a voice hoarse and raw with endless coughing. 
Then there was a knock at the door. 

“Who is there ?” she asked, alarmed. 

^‘’Tis I, miss,” cried a voice ; “ I’ve brought you your lunch.” 

• “No, thank you, Sophie, I have no appetite,” 

“ Will you not take anything, miss ? ” 

“ No, thank you.” 

“ Then you will ring, niiss, when you want something, will you 
not?” 

“Yes, yes.” 

She heard the servant go down-stairs, she heard the tinkling of 
plates and glasses on the tray. Eline gave another glance at the 
role of Xai'ma, and she lifted her head proudly and made an heroic 
motion with her hand, as she began to sing in a weak voice, inter- 
rupted by coughing. 

At half-past five Sophie brought the dinner and laid the little 


ELINE VERE. 


309 


round table with much care. But Eline scarcely touched any of 
the food, and she was glad when Sophie took it back again. She 
took up a few cards which Sophie had brought with her, cards 
from Madame Vestraeten and from Lili. 

“ Old Madame van Raat has also been here, and she went away.” 

Eline remained alone. The evening was falling, the sun was 
slowly sinking in the west, but the light long remained. From her 
cupboard Eline took a little bottle and carefully counted out some 
drops, which she let fall in a glass of water. Slowly she drank it. 
Ah, if they would only bring her some relief! It had so often 
been in vain lately. 

She was tired after her long day of idleness and half-insane 
ravings, and she wanted to retire to her rest at an early hour. No, 
she would not light the gas, she would stay a little longer in the 
twilight, and then — then she would try to sleep. But it all began to 
boil, to seethe, to throb in her head. She gasped for breath, and 
regardless of the evening air which began to blow into the room, 
she let the gray peignoir glide down from her shoulders. Her arms 
were thin, her chest was hollow, and she looked at herself with a 
sad smile as her fingers passed through her thin hair. And 
because it was growing dark, because in spite of her drops she 
would not sleep, because she was very pale and white in the lace 
and the embroidery of her dress, because she grew terrified at the 
increasing gloom, the madness once more returned — 

“Ah, perfido I Spergiuro ! ” 

she began as in a rage to hum to herself, as she lifted up her arm. 
It was the scene of Beethoven in which Vincent used to smell the 
odour of vervain. In her song she reproached a faithless lover 
with his broken troth, and her face expressed the most tragic grief, 
a wounded love which would avenge itself. She told the lover to 
go, but the gods above would cri’sh him under their chastisement. 
Suddenly she snatched from her bed a sheet, and she wrapped 
herself in the long white material, which in the faint evening light 
fell about her like a cloak of marble. 

“ Oh no I Fermate, vindici Dei ! ” 

she sang hoarsely, and her voice broke into coughs, with melting 
eyes this time, for in another mood she now invoked the mercy of 
the gods for the faithless one ; however he may have changed she 


310 


ELINE VERE. 


remained the same, she wanted no revenge, she had lived and now 
she would die for him. And slowly she murmured the Adagio 
slowly, very slowly, while the white folds of her drapery, with the 
imploring motions which she made with her arms, rose and fell 
continually. Thus she sang on, on, until a plaint forced itself from 
her throat, and in that plaint all at once she began to act, as with 
the noble art of a prhna donna. It seemed to her as though the 
lover had already fled, and as though she turned to the chorus 
which surrounded her pityingly — 


“ Se in tanto afifa — a — a — anno ! ” 


she murmured, almost weeping, in grief-stricken cadences, and her 
agony rose, the plaint rose, and she shrieked higher and higher — 


“Non son degna di pieta !” 


She started violently, terrified at the penetrating, shrill notes of 
her broken voice, and she flung her sheet from her shoulders and 
sat down shivering. Would they have heard her ? she wondered. 
She just glanced through the open French window on to the street. 
No, there were only a few people walking about in the growing 
darkness. But in the house ? Well, any way, she could not help 
it now. She would be sensible once more. She sobbed, and yet 
she laughed. She laughed at herself. If she excited herself like 
that she would never sleep. Suddenly she threw herself on her 
disarranged bed, and closed her eyes, but sleep would not come. 

‘^Oh, heavens! Oh, great heavens!” she groaned. ‘^Oh, 
great heavens, I pray you let me sleep.” 

And she wept bitterly, continuously. Then a thought shot 
through her brain. If she should drink a few drops more than the 
Brussels doctor had prescribed ? Would it hurt her ? She thought 
not, because the dose she was in the habit of taking now gave her 
no relief whatever. How many drops, she wondered, could she 
add to it without risk? As many as she had taken already? No, 
that would be too many, of course. Who knows what might 
happen ? But, for instance, half as many again ! Therefore, three 
drops more? No, no, she dared not. The doctor had so urgently 
warned her to be careful. Still it was very tempting, the few drops, 
and she rose. She took her little phial to count the three drops. 
One— two— three— four —the last two fell into the glass before 

she had time to take ; the bottle. Five— that would be too 



ELINE VERE. 


3II 

many ? She hesitated for a moment. With these five drops she 
would be certain to sleep. Still she hesitated, but all at once she 
came to a resolution, lured as she was to it by the prospect of 
rest. And she drank. 

She laid herself down on the floor, close to the open French 
window. The cold perspiration broke out all over her, and she 
felt a dullness stealing over her, but such a strange dullness it was, 
quite different from what she usually felt. 

“ Oh, great God ! ” thought she. “ Have — have I taken too 
many ? ” 

No, no, that would be too terrible. Death was so black, so 
empty, so mysterious, but still, if it were so? And suddenly her 
fears melted away into a restfulness immeasurable. Well, if it 
were so she would not care. And she began to laugh with in- 
audible, nervous little laughs, while the dullness descended upon her 
with a crushing weight as of the heavy fist of a giant. With her 
hand she wanted to defend herself from those giant fists, and her 
fingers became entangled in a cord about her neck. Oh, that was — 
that was his portrait, Otto’s portrait. Could she indeed have taken 

too much ? When to-morrow came should she ? She shuddered. 

To-morrow morning would they knock at her door in vain, and in 
the end would they find her lying there ? A terrible thought indeed. 
She was wet through with perspiration, and her fingers again 
wandered to the locket. No, that portrait they should not find on 
her bosom. She raised herself up, and wrenched the portrait out 
of the locket She could no longer distinguish it, for it had grown 
dark in her room, and in her eyes the light was already failing ; 
only the yellow glare of the street-lamp fell with a dull reflection 
into the room. But she saw the likeness with her mind’s eye, with 
her fingers she touched the little piece of pasteboard, and she kissed 
it, kissed it repeatedly. 

Oh, Otto,” she faltered, in a heavy labouring voice ; “ you it 
was, you alone, my Otto, not Vincent, not St. Clare, no one but 
you. You — oh, my Otto — oh, Otto — oh, great God !” 

And she struggled despairingly between the agony of death and 
a calm resignation. Then, after covering the portrait with passion- 
ate kisses, she placed it in her mouth despairingly without the 
strength left her to tear it up, or to destroy it in any other way than 
by swallowing it. Thus, whilst a trembling gasp of breath shook 


21 


312 


ELINE VERE. 


through her whole frame, she chewed, chewed the discarded proof 
of the portrait — of the portrait of Otto. 

She was weeping still, not with intermittent sobs, no longer 
with any bitterness, but as a child, with soft, child-like little sounds, 
gently groaning, her bosom heaving with faint, undulating motions. 
It was a weeping in which something like a little laugh resounded, 
a little laugh of insanity. Then she grew quiet, and she nestled 
herself with her head in her arms, still on the floor by the open 
window. She never moved, desperate with terror at her sur- 
roundings, desperate with terror at what was to come. It seemed 
to her as if throughout her frame there foamed and seethed a dark 
and stormy sea, which engulfed every thought in her brain, and 
into which she gradually sunk away. And with all her last remain- 
ing energy she tried to struggle against that sea, but its pressure 
was too heavy, and she fell, fell back utterly exhausted, utterly 
unnerved, hopelessly dulled by a stormy hissing in her ears and in 
her brain. 

“ Great God ! great God ! she groaned in a voice that was 
growing weaker and hoarser with every moment, a voice full of a 
wild despair that had no longer the power of utterance. Then, 
drop by drop, slowly and gently, her consciousness flowed away, 
and she slept — the sleep of Eternity ! 

The street-lamp was extinguished, and the big room was now 
dark as a grave. A mausoleum of impenetrable blackness in 
the midst of which, white and shadowy, lay a corpse. Then 
the chillness of the night entered into the apartment, and 
slowly the pearl gray mist of daybreak arose to dispel the 
heavy gloom. 


THE END. 


D. APPLETON & CO.’S PUBLICATIONS, 



etc. i2nio. Cloth, $1.50. 

“An excellent piece of work. . . . With each new novel the author of ‘The 
Hoosier Schoolmaster ' enlarges his audience, and surprises old friends by reserve forces 
unsuspected. Sterling integrity of character and high moral motives illuminate Dr. 
Eggleston’s fiction, and assure its place in the literature of America which is to stand 
as a worthy reflex of the best thoughts of this age.” — York World, 

“One of the novels of the decade.” — Rochester Union and Advertiser, 

“ It is extremely fortunate that the fine subject indicated in the title should have 
fallen into such competent hands.” — Pittsburgh Chronicle~Tele graph. 

“ Much skill is shown by the author in making these ‘ fads ’ the basis of a novel of 
great interest. . . . One who tries to keep in the current of good novel-reading must 
certainly find time to read ‘The Faith 'DctcX.ox' "—Bujff'alo Commercial. 

“ A vivid and life-like transcript from several phases of society. Devoid of literary 
affectation and pretense, it is a wholesome American novel, well worthy of the popu« 
larity which it has won.” — Philadelphia Inquirer, 



N UTTER FAILURE, By Miriam Coles 
Harris, author of “ Rutledge.” i2ino. Cloth, $1.25. 


“A story with an elaborate plot, worked out with great cleverness and with the 
skill of an experienced artist in fiction. The interest is strong and at times very dra- 
matic. . . . I'hose who were attracted by ‘ Rutledge' will give hearty welcome to this 
story, and find it fully as enjoyable as that once immensely popular noveL” — Boston 
Saturday Evening Gazette, 

“The pathos of this tale is profound, the movement highly dramatic, the moral 
elevating.” — Ne%o York WorUi, 

“ In this new story the author has done some of the best work that she has ever 
given to the public, and it will easily class among the most meritorious and most 
original novels of the year.” — Boston Home yournal. 

“ The author of ‘ Rutledge ' does not often send out a new volume, but when she 
does it is always a literary event . . . Her previous books were sketchy 'and slight 
when compared with the finished and trained power evidenced in ‘An Utter Failure.’ '* 
— New Haven Palladium, 



PURITAN PAGAN, By Julien Gordon, au- 
thor of “A Diplomat’s Diary,” etc. X2mo. Cloth, $1.00. 


“ Mrs. Van Rensselaer Cruger grows stronger as she writes. . . . The lines in her 
story are boldly and vigorously etched.”— AVw York Times. 

“ The author’s recent books have made for her a secure place in current literature, 
where she can stand fast. . . . Her latest production, ‘ A Puritan Pagan,' is an eminent- 
ly clever story, in the best sense of the word clever.” — Philadelphia Telegraph. 

“Has already made its mark as a popular story, and will have an abundance of 
readers. ... It contains some useful lessons that will repay the thoughtful study of 
persons of both sexes.” — New York youmal 0/ Commerce, 

“This brilliant novel will, without doubt, add to the repute of the writer who 
chooses to be known as Julien Gordon. , . . 'The ethical purpose of the author is kept 
fully in evidence through a series of intensely interesting situations.” — Boston Beacon. 

“ It is obvious that the author is thoroughly at home in illustrating the manner and 
the sentiment of the best society of both America and Europe.” — Chicago Times. 


New York: D. APPLETON & CO., i, 3, & 5 Bond Street, 


D. APPLETON & CO.’S PUBLICATIONS. 


A New Book by the author of “A Social Departure.” 



N AMERICAN GIRL IN LONDON. By Sara 
Jeannette Duncan. With 8o Illustrations by F. H. Town- 
send. i2mo. Paper, 75 cents ; cloth, $1.50. 


A brilliant book, picturing English sights, society, customs, and amuse- 
ments, as seen by an unconventional and witty observer. The same quali- 
ties which made “A Social Departure” so remarkable a success will make 
“ An American Girl in London ” a book which is “ talked about everywhere.” 

“ In the lighter literature of last year there was nothing more amusing than * A 
Social Departure,’ by Sara Jeannette Duncan, of Canada. It was just long enough— 
it could not well have been longer — but each reader wished that the author might write 
another book in similar style. Well, she has done it, and she could not have taken a 
better subject than ‘An American Girl in London.’ ” — New York Herald. 

“ The raciness and breeriness which made * A Social Departure,’ by the same au- 
thor, last season, the best-read and most-talked-of book of travel for many a year, 
permeates the new book, and appears between the lines of every page. It is super- 
fluous to say that ‘An American Girl’ is ‘awfully "—Brooklyn Standard- 

Union, 



SOCIAL DEPARTURE : How Orthododa and I 
Went Round the World by Ourselves. By Sara Jeannette 
Duncan. Illustrated by F. H. Townsend. i2mo. Paper, 75 
cents ; cloth, $1.75. 


“It is a cheery ^ witty, decorous, charming book.” — New York Herald. 

“ Widely read and praised on both sides of the Atlantic and Pacific, the diary Is 
now republished in New York, with scores of illustrations which fit the text exactly 
and show the mind of artist and writer in unison.” — New York Evening Post. 


“. . . It is to be doubted whether another book can be found so thoroughly amus- 
i: ; t ■>ni beginning to end."— Boston Daily Advertiser. 

' “A very bright book on a very entertaining subject. We commend it to those 
readers who abhor the ordinary statistical book of travels.” — Boston Evening Tran- 
script. 

"A brighter, merrier, more entirely charming book would be, indeed, difficult to 
find.” — St. Louis Republican. 


“ For sparkling wit, irresistibly contagious fun, keen observation, absolutely poetic 
appreciation of natural beauty, and vivid descriptiveness, it has no recent rival.”— 
Mrs. P. T. Barnum's Letter to the New York Tribune. 


New York : D. APPLETON & CO., i, 3, & 5 Bond Street. 


D. APPLETON & CO.’S PUBLICATIONS, 


Recent Issues in Appletons’ Town and Country Library, 


NUGENTS OF CARRICONNA. An Irish 
Story. By Tighe Hopkins. i2mo. Paper, 50 cents ; cloth, 
75 cents. 

*' An extremely racy Irish story, quite separated from everything that savors of the 
present agitation in Ireland, and one of the best things of the kind for several years." 
—Springfitld Republican. 


yt SENSITIVE RIANT. A novel by E. and D. Ge- 
RARD, joint authors of “Reata,” “The Waters of Hercules," 
etc. i2nio. Paper, 50 cents ; cloth, 75 cents. 

“ An agreeable and amusing love-story, the scene of which is part of the time in a 
coal-mining district in Scotland, and afterward in Venice, and a prominent character 
in which is a shrinking girl whose sensitiveness is suggestive of the little mimosa flower 
which ^ves title to the book.” — Cincinnati Times-Siar. 



ONA IUZ. By Don Juan Valera. Translated by Mrs. 
Mary J. Serrano. i2mo. Paper, 50 cents ; cloth, $1.00. 


*‘A triumph of skillful execution as well as of profound conception of modem 
Spanish character and social life. It is full of the best traditions of Spanish thought, 
both sacred and secular, of Spanish proverbial wisdom, and of the humor of Cervantes 
and other lights of the past in the literature of Brooklyn Eagle, 


JpEPITA XIMENEZ. By Don Juan Valera. Trans- 
lated by Mrs. Mary J. Serrano. i2mo. Paper, 50 cents ; 
cloth, $1.00. 


** A very striking and powerful novel." — Boston Transcript. 

** ‘One of the jewels of literary Spain' is what a Spanish critic has pronounced the 
most popular book of recent years in that language, Don Juan Valera’s novel ‘Pepita 
Ximenez.' *’—The Nation. 


'^nHE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBuAS. 
Ten Tales of Middle Georgia. By Richard Malcolm 
Johnston, author of “Widow Guthrie." i2mo. Paper, 50 
cents ; cloth, $1.25. 

"The best of Southern tales.” — Chicago Herald. 

"The thorough excellence of Col, Johnston’s work is well known. He was among 
the first of the successful short-story writers of this country. The steady increase in 
his fame is the best indication of the solid appreciation of the reading public. This 
public will give the new volume the same reception that made ‘ Widow Guthrie ' one of 
the most successful of recent novels." — Baltimore American. 


New York : D. APPLETON & CO., i, 3 . & 5 Bond Street. 


D. APPLETON & CO.’S PUBLICATIONS. 


Recent Issues in Appletons’ Town and Country Library. 

'V ''HE IRON GAME. By Henry F. Keenan, author of 
J- “ Trajan,” ” The Aliens,” etc. i2mo. Paper, 50 cents ; 
cloth, $1.00. 

** An entertaining romance which covers the tiine from just before the war until soon 
after the peace. Six young people carry on their love-making under countless diffi- 
culties, owing to two of them being on the wrong side of the ‘ unpleasantness.' Of 
course, there are all sorts of adventures, plots, misunderstandings, and wonderful 
escapes. . . . The book is written in excellent taste.” — Pittsburgh Bulletin. 


^TORIES OF OLD NEW SPAIN. By Thomas A. 
k.-' Janvier, ismo. Paper, 50 cents ; cloth, $1.00. 


“The author does for the Mexicans much what Longfellow has done for the 
Acadians.” — New York Commercial Advertiser. 

“ Mr. Janvier has evidently explored the ancient ruins and studied the old church 
records thoroughly, and has drawn therefrom much hitherto unused material.” — Cin- 
xinnati Times^Star. 

** Another lot of those tales of Mexico, which their author, Thomas A Janvier, 
knows how to write with such skill and charm. Nine of the stories are delightful, and 
uine is ihe number of stories in the book.” — New York Sun. 


*T^HE MAID OF HONOR. By the Hon. Lewis Wing- 
FIELD. i 2 mo. Paper, 50 cents ; cloth, 75 cents. 


** A story of France just before, during, and after the Reign of Terror. There are 
not many novels in our language which portray rural conditions in France in this 
troubled period, and this has a unique interest for that reason.” — Chicago Times. 

**A veiy graphic story of those troublous times which witnessed the temporary 
triumphs of * the people.' "-—Rochester Herald. 

It may safely be said that up to the last page . . . the reader’s attention is not 
allowed to ^g."— London A thenaum. 


IN THE HEART OF THE STORM. By Max- 
J- WELL Grey, author of “ The Silence of Dean Maitland.” 
i2mo. Paper, 50 cents ; cloth, 75 cents. 

" The plot is compact, defdy constructed, free from extravagances and violent im- 
probabiliries, with a well-managed element of suspense running nearly to the end, and 
strongly illustrative throughout of English life and character. The book is likely to 
add materially to the author’s well-earned repute.” — Chicago Times. 


ONSEQ UENCES. 

^ 50 cents ; cloth, $1.00. 


By Egerton Castle. 


i2mo. Paper, 


** It U a real pleasure to welcome a new novelist who shows both promise and per- 
formance. . . The work is distinguished by verve, by close and wide observation of 
the ways and cities of many men, by touches of a reflection which is neither shallow 
nor charged with the trappings and suits of weightiness ; and in many ways, not least 
in the striking end, it is decidedly original.” — Saturday Review. 


New York : D. APPLETON & CO., i, 3, & 5 Bond Street. 


D. APPLETON & CO.’S PUBLICATIONS, 


Recent Issues in Appletons’ Town and Country Library. 



cloth, 75 cents. 


^ ** May unreservedly be recommended as one of the choice stories of the season, 
bright, refined, graceful, thoughtful, and iuieresting from the first to the final page.” — 
Boston LiUrary World, 


A 


MATTER OF SKILL, By Beatrice Whitby, 

author of “The Awakening of Mary Fenwick” and “Part of 
the Property.” i2mo. Paper, 50 cents ; cloth, $1.00. 

** A pretty love-story, told in a gracefully piquant manner, and with a frank fresh- 
ness of style that makes it very attractive in the reading. It is uncommonly well 
written.” — Boston Saturday Evening Gazette. 

“The story is charmingly told, and is very readable.” — Literary World. 



AID MARIAM, AMD OTHER STORIES. 
By Molly Elliot Seawell, author of “ Throckmorton ” and 
“ Little Jarvis.” i2mo. Paper, 50 cents ; cloth, $1.00. 


** There is an unmistakable cleverness in this collection of short stories.” — Boston 
Literary World. 

“Miss Seawell has a brisk and prolific fancy, and a turn for the odd and fantastic, 
while she is Past Master in the use of negro dialect and the production of tales of 
plantation life and manners. All these stories are spirited, well marked by local color, 
and written with skill and ingenuity.”— A^,ew York Tribune. 

“ Miss Seawell writes capital stories, and in a special way nothing of late has been 
done better nor more daintily than * Maid Marian.' ” — New York Times. 


(T: 


E WOMAM' S WA Y. By Edmund Pendleton, 

author of “A Conventional Bohemian,” “A Virginia Inherit- 
ance,” etc. i2mo. Paper, 50 cents ; cloth, $1.00. 


**The author is a Virginian who has written some interesting stories, and who 
steadily improves upon himself. . . . This is a thoughtful, semi-philosophical story. 
There is much discussion in it, but none of it is prosy.'' — New York Herald. 

“ In this genuinely interesting novel the author depicts one of the most charming 
characters to be found in the vast range of woman’s realm. . . . The close is artistically 
devised and shows a deep observation. Mr. Pendleton has a brilliant future before him 
in his chosen path." — St. Louis Republic. 



MERCIFUL DIFORCE. 

i2mo. Paper, 50 cents ; cloth, $1.00. 


By F. W. Maude. 


“ There have been few more searching studies of the rampant English plutocracy 
than is afforded by this brilliantly written volume.”— Boston Beacon. 


“ The book is curiously interesting from the startling side-light it throws on English 
society of the upper grades.” — Chicago Times. 


New York; D. APPLETON & CO., i, 3, & 5 Bond Street. 


D. APPLETON & CO.’S PUBLICATIONS. 


A NEW HUMOROUS TRAVEL-BOOK. 



GIJ^LS ON A BARGE. 
•S. By V. Cecil Cotes. Illustrated by 
F. H. Townsend. i2mo. Cloth. 
$ 1 . 00 . 

A bright, vivacious sketch of odd people 
and curious experiences, illustrated by the 
artist who illustrated “A Social Departure” 
and “ An American Girl in London,” both of 
which will be recalled by the good spirits of this equally unconventional 
record of a journey down the Thames. 


“For something entirely original, piquant, and worthy of rapt attention, we com. 
mend this little volume .” — New York Journal of Cotnmerce. 

“Describes with great vivacity a vacation trip on an English canal; and the ex> 
periences of the two young ladies and a young gentleman are set forth with a thorough 
appreciation of the novel situations in which the party often found itself. The forty- 
four illustrations are fully in harmony with the light and entertaining character of Uie 
text .” — Boston Saturday Evening Gazette. 


AN ENGLISH WOMAN’S RECORD OF HER LIFE 
IN AFRICA. 

OME LIFE ON AN OSTRICH FARM. By 

Annie Martin. Illustrated. i2mo. Cloth, $1.25. 

“Not in many da)rs has a more interesting voluine descriptive of life in a remote 
land been offered to the public. It is so brightly written, so cheery, so pervaded by 
the South African sunlight, as it were, that the reader regrets the rapidity with which 
he finds himself making his way tlirough its chaiming pages.” — New York Times. 

“One of the most charming descriptions of African experience that have come 
under our notice. . . . The work does not contain a dull page. It is a sparkling little 
book, of which it would be difficult to speak too London Athenceum. 

“With fluent simplicity and feminine animation the author chats delightfully of the 
uaint daily happenings on her husband’s farm of twelve thousand acres in the Karroo 
istrict of Cape Colony. . . . The reader will peruse every page with keen enjoy- 
ment, and will feel grateful admiration for the clever, plucky, w omanly woman who 
calls herself ‘ Annie Martin.' ” — New York Sun, 

“ The author s style is gossipy, and she has a sense 
of humor that aids greatly in making her book readable. 

She seems to write without an effort, as if she enjoyed 
It; and before we have gone through the first chapter we 
become warm friends, so that when the final chapter 
arrives we part with the authoress with sincere regret.” 

—Philadelphia Item. 

“A perfect book of its kind. . . . Mrs. Martin joins 
keen observing powers to a great love of nature, both 
animate and inanimate, and a rare descriptive faculty. 

Her pictures of the farm life, but, above all, of her dumb 
companions, are admirable. . . . The illustrations are 
excellent.’'— York Evening Post. 




New York : D. APPLETON & CO., i, 3, & 5 Bond Street. 


D. APPLETON & CO.’S PUBLICATIONS. 



O URMALIN *S TIAIE 

Anstey, author of “Vice Versa, 


»» 44 


CHEQUES, 

The Giant's Robe,” 


By F. 

etc. 


“ Mr. Anstey has done nothing more original or fantastic with more 6uccess.’'~ 
The Nation. 

"A curious conceit and very entertaining story.” — Boston Advertiser. 

Each cheque is good for several laughs.” — New York Herald. 

Nothing could be more sprightly and amusingly whimsical.” — Boston Courier. 

“ A very clever tale of fantastic humor. . . . The literary style is graceful and 
sparkling.” — Chicago Times. 

“ Certainly one of the most diverting books of the season,” — Brooklyn Times. 

** Exquisitely printed and bound.” — Philadelphia Times. 


F 


ROM SHADOW 

Marquis of Lorne. 


TO 


SUNLIGHT, By the 


**Jn these days of princely criticism— that is to say, criticism of princes — it is re- 
freshing to meet a really good bit of aristocratic literary work, albeit the author is only 
a prince-in-law. . . . The theme chosen by the Marquis makes his story attractive to 
Americans.” — Chicago Tribune. 

“A charming book,” — Cincinnati Enquirer. 


^DOTTING AN ABANDONED FARM. By 

Kate Sanborn. 


*‘A sunny, pungent, humorous sketch.” — Chicago Times. 

“A laughable picture of the grievous experiences of a young woman who sought 
to demonstrate the idea that a woman can farm. . . . T he drakes refused to lay ; the 
vegetables refused to come up; and the taxes would not go down.” — Minneapolis 
Tribune. 

“The book is dainty in exterior as well as rich within; and to those who seek 
health, moral and physical, we say, ‘ Buy it' ” — Montreal Gazette. 

” If any one wants an hour’s entertainment for a warm sunny day on the piazza, 
or a cold wet day by the log-fire, this is the book tlrat will furnish it” — New York 
Observer. 

*‘Many is the good laugh the reader will have over its pages.” — Philadelphia 
Ledger. 


O N THE LAKE OF LUCERNE, and other Stories. 
By Beatrice Whitby, author of “A Matter of Skill,” “The 
Awakening of Mary Fenwick,” etc. 

** Six short stories carefully and conscientiously finished, and told with the graceful 
ease of the practiced raconteur." — Literary Digest. 

** The stories are pleasantly told in light and delicate vein, and are sure to be ac- 
ceptable to the friends Miss Whitby has ^ready made on this side of the Atlantic.”— 
Philadelphia Bulletin, 

“Very dainty, not only in mechanical workmanship but in matter and manner.” — 
Boston A dvertiser. 


Each, i6mo, half cloth, with specially designed cover, 50 cents. 


New York ; D. APPLETON & CO., i, 3, & 5 Bond Street. 


D. APPLETON & CO.’S PUBLICATIONS, 


O UTINGS AT ODD TIMES. By Charles C. Abbott, 
author of “ Days out of Doors ” and “ A Naturalist’s Rambles 
about Home.” l6mo. Cloth, gilt top, $1.25. 

Dr. Abbott’s delightful studies in Natural History have become 
familiar to many readers, and his new volume is suggestive, instructive, 
and always interesting. 



NATURALIST'S RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. 

By Charles C. Abbott. i2mo. Cloth, $1.50. 


** The home about which Dr, Abbott rambles is clearly the haunt of fowl and fish, 
of an imal and insect life ; and it is of the habits and nature of these that he discourses 
pleasantly in this book. Summer and winter, morning and evening, he has been in 
the open air all the time on the alert for some new revelation of instinct, or feeling, 
or character on the part of his neighbor creatures. Most that he sees and hears he 
reports agreeably to us, as it was no doubt delightful to himself. Books like this, 
which are free from all the technicalities of science, but yet lack little that has scien* 
ofi : value, are well suited to tlie reading of the young. Their atmosphere is a healthy 
jne for boys in particular to breathe .” — Boston Transcript. 



A FIS' OUT OF DOORS. By Charles C. Abbott, 
author of “ A Naturalist’s Rambles about Home.” i2mo. 
Cloth, $1.50. 


** * Days out of Doors ' is a series of sketches of animal life by Charles C. Abbott, 
a naturalist whose graceful writings have entertained and instructed the public before 
now. The essays and narratives in this book are grouped in twelve chapters, named 
after the months of the year. Under ‘January ' the author talks of squirrels, musk- 
rats, water-snakes, and the predatory animals that withstand the rigor of winter; 
under ‘ February ' of frogs and herons, crows and blackbirds ; under ‘ March ’ of gulls 
and fishes and foxy sparrows, and so on appropriately, instructively, and divertingly 
through the whole twelve,”— 714/ New York Sun. 



HE PLAYTIME NATURALIST. 
Taylor, F. L. S., editor of “ Science Gossip.” 
trations. i2mo. Cloth, $1.50. 


By Dr. J. E. 
With 366 lllus- 


“ The work contains abundant evidence of the author’s knowledge and enthusiasm, 
and any boy who may read it carefully is sure to find something to attract him. The 
style is clear and lively, and there are many good illustrations.” — Nature. 


New York: D. APPLETON & CO., i, 3, & 5 Bond Street. 


D. APPLETON & CO.’S PUBLICATIONS. 


7 T /5 STORY OF MY HOUSE. By George H. 

Ellw ANGER, author of “ The Garden’s Story.” With an 
Original Etching by Sidney L. Smith. Also many Head and 
Tail Pieces, i2mo. Cloth, $1.50. 

Even a more delightful book than ” The Garden’s Story.” Though 
seemingly devoted to the house proper, the essays are filled with the 
freshness of country life and the beauty of external nature. 


'J^HE GARDEN^ S STORY; or. Pleasures and 

Trials of an Amateur Gardener By George H. Ellw anger. 
With Head and Tail Pieces by Rhead. i2mo. Cloth, extra, 
$1.50. 

** Mr. Ellwanger’s instinct rarely errs in matters of taste. He writes out of the 
fullness of experimental knowledge, but his knowledge differs from that of many a 
trained cultivator in tliat his skill in garden practice is guided by a refined aesthetic 
sensibility, and his appreciation of what is beautiful in nature is healthy, hearty, and 
catholic. His record of the garden year, as we have said, begins with the earliest 
violet, and it follows the season through until the witch-hazel is blossoming on the 
border of the wintry woods. . . . This little book can not fail to give pleasure to all 
who take a genuine interest in rural life .” — The Tribune, New York. 


T 


HE FOLK-LORE OF PLANTS. 

ELTON Dyer, M. A. i2mo. Cloth, $1.50. 


By T. F. This- 


” A handsome and deeply interesting volume. ... In all respects the book is ex- 
cellent Its arrangement is simple and intelligible, its style bright and alluring. 
, . . To all who seek an introduction to one of the most attractive branches of folk- 
lore, this delightful volume may be warmly commended .”— and Queries. 



trated. i2mo. Cloth, $1.50. 


** No writer treats scientific subjects vdth so much ease and charm of style as Mr. 
Grant Allen. 

The study is a delightful one, and the book is fascinating to any one who has 
either love for flowers or curiosity about them .” — Hartford Courant. 


New York: D. APPLETON & CO., i, 3 , & 5 Bond Street. 


D. APPLETON & CO.’S PUBLICATIONS. 





AJEW EDITION OF 
^ V ENGLISH ODES. Selected 
by Edmund W. Gosse. With 
Frontispiece on India paper 
from a design by Hamo Thor- 
NYCROFT, A. R. A. Forty-two 
Head and Tail Pieces from 
Original Drawings by Louis 
Rhead. i6mo. Cloth, special 
design in gold, $1.50. Same, 
in parchment, $1.75. 

EW EDITION OF ENGLISH LYRICS. Uni- 
form with “English Odes.” With nearly Eighty 
Head and Tail Pieces from Original Drawings 
by Louis Rhead. i6mo. Cloth, special 
design in gold, $1.50. Same, in 
parchment, $1.75. 

HE MUSIC SERIES. 

Consisting of Biographical 
and Anecdotical Sketches 
of the Great German Com- 
posers ; The Great Italian 
and French Composers ; 

Great Singers ; Great Vio- 
linists and Pianists. Five 
volumes, i8mo. Bound in 
half white and red sides, 

$3.50 per set ; half calf, 

$8.00. 

'T^HE HOUSEHOLD BOOK OF POETRY. By 

* Charles A. Dana. Entirely new edition, from new stereo- 
type plates, enlarged and brought down to the present time. 
With nearly Two Hundred additional poems. Illustrated with 
Steel Engravings. Royal 8vo. Cloth, gilt extra, $5.00; half 
calf, $8.00 ; morocco, antique, $10.00 ; tree calf, $12.00. 


T 



New York : D. APPLETON & CO., i, 3, & 5 Bond Street. 


D. APPLETON & CO.’S PUBLICATIONS. 



ROUND AND ABOUT SOUTH AMERICA: 
Twenty Months of Quest and Query. By Frank Vincent, 
author of “ The Land of the White Elephant,” etc. With Maps, 
Plans, and 54 full-page Illustrations. 8vo, xxiv + 473 pages. 
Ornamental cloth, $5.00. 


No former traveler has made so comprehensive and thorough a tour of 
Spanish and Portuguese America as did Mr. Vincent. He visited every 
capital, chief city, and important seaport, made several expeditions into the 
interior of Brazil and the Argentine Republic, and ascended the Paranl, 
Paraguay, Amazon, Orinoco, and Magdalena Rivers; he visited the crater 
of Pichinchas, 16,000 feet above the sea-level ; he explored falls in the center 
of the continent, which, though meriting the title of “ Niagara of South 
America,” are all but unknown to the outside world ; he spent months in 
the picturesque capital of Rio Janeiro ; he visited the coffee districts, studied 
the slaves, descended the gold-mines, viewed the greatest rapids of the globe, 
entered the isolated Guianas, and so on. 


/ 


N AND OUT OF CENTRAL AMERICA; and 

other Sketches and Studies of Travel. By P'rank Vincent, 
With Maps and Illustrations. i2mo. Cloth, $2.00. 



RAZLL : Its Condition and Prospects. By C. C. Andrews, 
ex-Consul-General to Brazil. i2mo. Cloth, $1.50. 


** I hope I may be able to present some facts in respect to the present situation of 
Brazil which will be both instructive and entertaining to general readers. My means 
of acquaintance with that empire are principally derived from a residence of three 
years at Rio de Janeiro, its capital, while employed in the service of the United States 
Government, during which period I made a few journeys into the interior .” — From 
the Preface. 


C HINA : Travels and Investigations in the ** Middle 
Kingdom.** A Study of its Civilization and Possibilities. 
With a Glance at Japan. By James Harrison Wilson, late 
Major-General United States Volunteers and Brevet Major- 
General United States Army. i2mo. Cloth, $1.75. 

“The book presents China and Japan in all these aspects; the manners and cus- 
toms of the people; the Institutions, tendencies, and social ideas; the government and 
leading men .” — Boston Traveller. 


New York ; D. APPLETON & CO., l, 3, & 5 Bond Street. 


D. APPLETON & CO.’S PUBLICATIONS. 



ROM FLAG TO FLAG. A Woman’s Adventures 

and Experiences in the South during the War^ in Mexico, atid 
in Cuba. By Eliza McHatton-Ripley. i2mo. Cloth, $i.oo. 


The author of this book was the wife of a planter in Louisiana, and underwent some 
remarkable experiences in the first part of the war; later in Mexico, many vicissitudes 
befell her; and of her life in Cuba, still later, she has a striking and unusual story to tell. 

“ In a word, the book is an account of personal adventures w'hich would be called 
extraordinary did not one remember that the civil war must have brought similar ones 
to many. Her hardships are endured with the rarest pluck and good humor, and 
her shifty way of meeting difficulties seems almost to point to a Yankee strain in her 
blood ." — The Nation. 



full-page Illustrations, engraved fac-simile from the author’s 
Drawings. Large i2mo. Paper cover, 50 cents. 

** ‘ The History of a Slave ' is a work of fiction based upon every-day occurrences 
in the Dark Continent, and well calculated to bring home to die reader the social 
condition of heathen and Mohammedan Africa, and the horrors of a domestic slave- 
trade ." — The Atkenceum. 


'T'HE MEMOIRS OF AN ARABIAN ERIN- 

CESS. By Emily Ruete, nPe Princess of Oman and Zanzibar. 

Translated from the German. i2mo. Cloth, 75 cents. 

The author of this amusing autobiography is half-sister to the late Sultan of Zanzi* 
bar, who some years ago married a German merchant and setded at Hamburg. 

“A remarkably interesting little volume. . . . As a picture of Oriental court life, 
and manners and customs in the Orient, by one who is to the manor bom, the book is 
prolific In entertainment and edification .” — Boston Gazette. 

ETCHES EEOAf MY LI EE. By the late Admiral 

Hobart Pasha. With a Portrait. i2mo. Paper, 50 cents ; 

cloth, $1.00. 

“ The sailor is nearly always an adventurous and enterprising variety of the human 
species, and Hobart Pasha was about as fine an example as one could wish to see. . 
The sketches of South American life are full of interest. The sport, the inevitable 
entanglements of susceptible middies with beautiful Spanish girls and the sometimes 
disastrous consequences, the duels, attempts at assassination, and other adventures and 
amusements, are described with much spirit . . . The sketches abound in interesting 
details of the American war .” — London A thenaum. 


New York; D. APPLETON & CO., i, 3, & 5 Rond Street. 


D. APPLETON & CO.’S PUBLICATIONS. 


DECOLLECTIONS OP THE COURT OF THE 
TUILERIES. By Madame Carette, Lady-of-Honor to the 
Empress Eugenie. Translated from the French by Elizabeth 
Phipps Train, izmo. Cloth, $i.oo; paper cover, 50 cents. 

The inside view which these Recollections give of the Court of Louis 
Napoleon is fresh and of great interest. 

“ We advise every one who adaaires good work to buy and read it .” — London 
Morning Poet. 


EMOIRS OF MADAME DE REM USA T. 



IwJ. 1802-1808. Edited by her Grandson, Paul de Remusat, 
Senator. 3 volumes, crown 8vo. Half bound, $2.25. 

‘‘Notwithstanding the enormous library of works relating to Napoleon, we know 
of none which cover precisely the ground of these Memoirs. Madame de Remusat 
was not only lady-in-waiting to Josephine during the eventful years i8oa-i8o8, but 
was her intimate friend and trusted confidante. Thus we get a view of the daily life 
of Bonaparte and his wife, and the terms on which they lived, not elsewhere to be 
found.” — N, Y. Mail. 

“ These Memoirs are not only a repository of anecdotes and of portraits sketched 
from life by a keen-eyed, quick-witted woman ; some of the author's reflections on social 
and political questions are remarkable for weight and penetration .” — New York Sun. 


A SELECTION FROM THE LETTERS OF 
MADAME DE REMUSA T. 1804-1814. Edited by her 
Grandson, Paul de Remusat, Senator. l2mo. Cloth, $1.25. 

J^EMOIRS OF NAPOLEON, his Court and Family. 
J VI. By the Duchess d'Abrantes. In 2 volumes, i2mo. Cloth, 


$3.00. 


The interest excited in the first Napoleon and his Court by the “ Memoirs 
of Madame de Remusat ” has induced the publishers to issue the famous 
“ Memoirs of the Duchess d’Abrantes,” which have hitherto appeared in a 
costly octavo edition, in a much cheaper form, and in a style to correspond 
with De Remusat. This work will be likely now to be read with awakened 
interest, especially as it presents a much more favorable portrait of the great 
Corsican than that limned by Madame de Remusat, and supplies many valu- 
able and interesting details respecting the Court and Family of Napoleon, 
which are found in no other work. 


New York: D. APPLETON & CO.. 1. 3, & 5 Bond Street, 


D. APPLETON & CO.’S PUBLICATIONS. 


RECENT FICTION. 

T^REELAND : A Social Aniicipation. By Dr. Theo- 

DOR HeRTZKA. I 2 mO. Cloth, $1.00. 

A most interesting attempt to work out the social problems which con- 
front the world to-day. It is a description of an ideal community founded 
upon new and yet not impossible conditions. In Germany this book has 
met with a success equal to that of Looking Backward in this country, and, 
like the latter book, it has led to the foundation of clubs and societies, and 
to efforts to put the plans of the author into actual practice. 



MERCIFUL DIVORCE. By F. W. Maude. 
i2mo. Paper, 50 cents ; cloth, $1.00. 


A story of the modem “smart set” in London, by an author whose 
knowledge of the life comes from actual experience. There has been no 
attempt at the sensational, but the book represents an effort to picture a 
striking phase of modern society as it really is. 


AN UTTER FAILURE. By Miriam Coles Har^ 

Ris, author of “ Rutledge.” i2mo. Cloth, $1.25. 


“Rutledge” proved to be one of the most popular works of fiction ever 
published in this country. The author’s host of friends will appreciate her 
skillful rendering of this new and deeply interesting story. 



TEPHEN ELLICOTrS DAUGHTER. By Mrs. 

J. H. Needell, author of “The Story of Philip Methuen,” 


etc. i2mo. Paper, 50 cents ; cloth, $1.00. 

** From first to last an exceptionally strong and beautiful story .*’ — Lotidcn Spectator. 

“Mrs. Needell has written nothing more absorbing or skillfully constructed than 
this romance of English country life. . . . With that rare art in which art is concealed, 
her creations have all the strong and weak attributes of our common humanity, be the 
social scale high or low .” — Leeds Mercury, 

“ Deserves to be placed among the best and most artistic novels of the present 
season .” — London Literary World. 

“ Readers of Mrs. Needell’s works do not need to be told that she has done good 
work before now, but it may be doubted whether she has done anything that will serve 
to prepare them for a novel exhibiting such a combination of vigor and beauty as is to 
be found in this book .” — London Academy. 


New York: D. APPLETON & CO., i, 3, & 5 Bond Street. 



f. >■ 





i' 



- ' 'i'; 






> * ’ •' ' .• '- 


I . , - . .•>•'•' 


t 

> 

1 . ,> 



/ *. ' ^ ■ \ >. ■ v* 


■■, 7 .- 

Pf.; .. : • ^ vv 




I.'" • t 



J ’ V • • ' « > S'JM 

k’ ' ’ '* A T « » f 4 * 

,‘y 




V *■ 


» f* 




k • 


' I A 

f 


t , 


. 1 

<,i j ' ^ _y , \ *.iS 


* ' 


I ^i,! 




• , ' ' ' ,' 


• r^♦ •»« <*• *><_ 


* • 


J 

f- 



i ' 


m 


.» • 






> ■ 'f^ss 



i' ■- 


r 


j 


\ V ZmKf^ #v“ V ^ ^ s '’’ • ' ' 

^ ' ' ■■^ i v' 




f'-.V‘ r ' ^ '-i vH•■>^ ■■' ‘ ' ■ ?•'» V' _• . u 

« • , • b . • '♦. ' i* .' * 'I ^ II ' 




■ ■ ■■ s 

#'ipj • V ■ u, 

3^v*i 




ji,-j »' ,».y... 

> V ' •■ ■■ -■ ^ •’ iT ; f' 

'<tJLk' ; ' ' ' • r» • ■'• . 1 -'A- ' ^ ^fSS 


7 ** ■ 7 • , I r* ‘ * .*. 

^ ■ ^v;?f *r ■ 


toi«l^l!i'.i-,'>*„.'{: . .;. r ' r' i '■■ ' 





I ♦ ^ A . ^ 

' ■'•.'.t'-fc 

' ■ .' » . : -J. .* ’ ' ■ W 


. ^ I’l r \ ’ I 


f 

.'v'- , 


/ \ 


.< 1 






'* ' 5 i 


« 











• 


\ 


( t 


I,/' 


» 


.> 

' \ 



* ■ ^ ;^V*f ; 7 Ti; ■ 

► .</ A- • -i ‘ 



s^ -4h;/ ■■• 


‘’’i ‘A ' ' • 

.SvY\ 



^ ' ' ■' "••' .V ' 

r- * v - *-> ./V-e' 

I-. i- * . f. c . 


■'■’^i»f"»!p.^q 

/ . . jfc •« I* r-’t?* -rfl 


• ) 'r ^ 




X’ 


r ■'I 


•■(T . • 


•. 






,a* i » f ? 






A 'f ' ' i‘ a!i8 

/■ iLi^' St' u ' i 


■ • >:V /V 'i 


• 


\- 4 ' 








1 

'•' ^' 


' '\v“‘ ,•■'•■ > ■ 

. 'p I '. •■ *^ ’* 


' -*-4 *-ra ’ ' ’ 




I , » 




' K-’ ’ * V 8 






Mf •: i • 4 , . 


. -v/' * .1 


' - f ^ 'V 

r ^ r^\ ‘ 

:'-»^‘.-‘>V'’*T 

\h.m 





s 




‘ v-v 

*,•*' '• 7 " »■ '/ *' ^ ■'-* ^ ‘ L 

, '. J ’^'V " ^'^s'*- -^-V^i- 


' 'a . 

% ’ 






• • I . 

< ' * 



V ' ' • fi: 


* * » ( 
» *• ^ 


' ■ ^ 



. 'A 


.1 ' 


:N 


,■* * 

4 


■'Tfi.' ■ ' ■ 


4:’ C'V* ■^-' 

'j» : 


«• 




-'4^1 


>. • ^ 


V' ' AiM 


* 1 . 


/ » 




* • 

« 

t V 



V \'t 






1> 



■■ a V 






r'!t 


4 






5 >. i ■ -^ ' ■'® ' ' ■ ; • i 

I I - ItMlM kibAixU^'f r & '>t ' * V . "‘v > 



J ( 


r$ 





*1 




\ ‘i 


■' ■ '^ ' »'•*• s ;' j ' ■ Will 

■■ v'-.'s '• ■ -. ■y C- jil S^l J 

33tvft % i ’ \ . ■ - . ^ ‘ ■ ! *.-^ 





■; i 



-■ ■' ' ■ . 



f y^v: * vV I '* ' ' 


I’* <• / 

■■W'^^-:-i2^ ‘ w-' 




, . i 


• / 


^ * 
• > 






. 1 ./ 




jti 5 i 


• V* T J rf 

v'i’ - • 

f I ' • 


. • 


W 


. . • ' ti-y 




vyU ^ 


* < 


* « 


*V 



\- ' 


^■- ■' ' ^ 


4 * 


f. ^ y 


* •►i 


^ - 


♦ - ' 



:r.‘ 


'i 


>» . 


• ■• 




'- r ' 


>■■ it ■ •' V . ' ■•■ ifS ''-^^ 


V 






n. 




/ A V , 






LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 


